The Red House
by LowDesert
Summary: Clark Kent returns to Smallville, with his new wife Diana, hoping for peace after tragedy, but they will encounter something terrifying in the town's past, a terror Clark, not yet Superman, encountered long ago. Bit of an AU here, and crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The graveside service for Jonathan and Martha Kent was small and intimate, attended by most of Smallville's oldest residents, especially those who had known the Kents for upwards of 20 years and more. There were no longer many young people who lived in the small, rural Kansas town; as the economy declined, so did the jobs and other opportunities. Many of the young people departed as soon as they graduated – or dropped out – of high school, seeking their fortune in the larger urban areas of America, or they joined the military and left for the wars. These were the only ones who returned young - eternally young - to Smallville, accompanied by a funeral escort.

Many there in the tiny cemetery recognized the Kent's' only boy, Clark, as one of those who had "gone to the big city," becoming some sort of journalist and a success. The Kents had always been proud of their boy, saving clippings of his articles and showing them to their friends, although the boy himself rarely had time to come back to visit, but the Kents didn't mind. So it seemed such a shame, a tragedy, that Clark Kent had finally come home, with his new wife, only after the elder Kents had been killed in that tragic car accident.

Clark Kent stood there in front of the graves as the caskets were slowly lowered, dressed in a black suit, staring down at the ground silently as the minister went through the readings. Everyone there thought him very strong, since they knew he must be dreadfully grieving inside.

"Is that his wife, there?" Edna Mae nudged her friend, Bettie, and whispered.

"Who?"

"That woman next to him!"

"Well I'm sure it must be, whose else could it be?"

Neither of them had spoken to the young woman who stood by Clark's side at the funeral, and as far as they knew, not one of their circle of friends had either. She was a beauty, dark haired, and very piercing eyes - quite a catch for Clark, they all agreed later. They thought they heard that her name was Diana, but she didn't speak as Clark had greeted them at the cemetery, letting Clark doing all the talking. She was also dressed somberly for the occasion, her lustrous black hair pulled into a tight bun, and like him she wore spectacles. This had the effect of making her look like a high-powered businesswoman, or a high-powered diplomat. They didn't see much of either of those in Smallville.

"You think she's American? She looks a bit like a foreigner."

"Maybe she's French?"

"Dunno. Looks Greek to me.

"Are you sure they're married? She's not wearing a ring!"

"He's not wearing one either."

"Maybe where she's from they don't believe in 'em."

"Don't seem right, not having a ring…"

"Maybe Clark couldn't afford one. I did hear he got laid off from his job at the _Daily Planet_. The whole newspaper went under! After all those years, can you believe it?"

"Not surprised, the liberal claptrap they printed…"

"No, it was the Internet, driving all the newspapers under. Soon we'll all be reading the news on the computer."

"If we had one!"

"Not that there's any news worth reading anyhow!"

"So what's he gonna do now?"

"Who?"

"Clark!"

"He's going to take over the Kent farm, so I heard."

"You don't say! He's moving back home?"

"Makes sense. Needs a job, doesn't he? Not much call for a big-city journalist in Smallville, though. If anyone can bring the Kents' place back, he can."

"It'd be hard, the way things are now. Fam'ly farms closing shutting down everywhere. Can't complete against them corporate farms. Wonder if his wife would take to the place?"

"Well, we can make her welcome. If Clark thinks she's worthwhile, so do we!"

Clark could hear them quite well, and despite his great grief, felt a slight comfort that his parents' old friends were prepared to welcome him home, even though he hadn't been home for so many years. He was sure that they would welcome Diana too, once they got to know her. He was more concerned for her. This was not the kind of place she had ever encountered before.

As if sensing his mind, Diana's hand slipped over his and squeezed, just strongly enough to reassure him. He returned it, and felt more thankful than ever that Diana had agreed to come here with him.

[My first JL story, so please review :) More action to come, and will be a bit AU - WW's mum and Amazons are still alive and kicking in this world. This is a crossover, although the crossover to what will only be gradually revealed - clues to come!]


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The gravesite ceremony ended with the solemn benediction. The elderly mourners got up as well as their arthritic bodies would allow, and made their laborious way back to their parked cars, but they paused to give some final words of condolence, or a nod, to the sole surviving Kent relative. They still thought of him as a child, even though the last time they had seen him was when he had returned to Smallville following his college graduation. He seemed to have hardly aged a day, although that had to be nearly 10 years ago. Yet for all that Clark still remembered each of them, although they knew they must only occupy a blip in his memory, and they remembered that.

One woman there however, registered much more clearly. She stepped up hesitantly to him, after all the elders had tottered off. Clark looked up, and his eyes widened.

"Lana? Lana! It's so good to see you!"

Clark opened his arms and hugged his old friend, who returned his hug warmly. Suddenly seeing an old friend was such a relief from the sorrow of the moment.

"My, Clark, you haven't aged a day," Lana said in wonder.

"Lana, you haven't either!"

She laughed. "Maybe not 'aged,' but I've certainly grown wider!" Lana was well-aware she had probably put on 30 more pounds since she last saw him.

"You are just as beautiful as always, Lana," Clark said, and meant it.

Lana's gaze drifted to the women standing just directly behind Clark. As if he'd forgotten something vitally important, Clark quickly introduced her.

"Diana, this is Lana Lang, my friend from school."

"Actually Lana Richardson now," Lana looked at the woman, fascinated. She was a beautiful woman, yet at the same time there seemed something almost...predatory about her. She felt that if she made one wrong move towards Clark, she would snap her like a twig. It was a good thing she was no longer making eyes at him!

"Um, hi…you're Clark's…wife?"

To her relief, the woman smiled reassuringly. "Yes. I am…Diana Kent," She extended her hand and shook Lana's. Diana had a hint of strange accent she couldn't place, and she had a strong grip too. Before Lana could ask anything else (and later a million questions had popped up in her mind), a booming voice rang out.

"Well, well! Clark!"

Clark stared at the tall and muscular blonde man who walked up. He looked familiar but he was missing the name. He flashed a broad grin at Clark, practically beaming.

"Remember me? We were in grade school together?"

"Yes! Will, yes, yes, I do!" Very vaguely, Clark thought, and that recollection seemed to touch on something else, something buried very, very deep in his memory, but he brushed it aside at the realization that Lana was married also.

"Very good to see you again Clark! Of course we're very sorry for your loss…"

Diana waited patiently as Clark and his old friends reminisced for several minutes. This was such a odd form of funeral rite, she considered, but she supposed she still had things to learn in this world..especially this part of the world. She still felt apprehensive about moving here, but hoped it would only be for a short time. For now, she had decided that the best place for her was by Clark's side, whatever he had decided about the Justice League. What certain _others_ would think about that, however, was another matter. For the present, she hoped that this villager would end his rambling soon. There was something about this man that irritated her, and not only because he was talking too much…he was looking at Clark with the air of alpha who has scented the presence of potential challenger. Surely he did not think he was after Lana - was she an old girlfriend? No, it was something else, something that set off Diana's warrior senses, but the man seemed unthreatening enough, if a bit boorish, and after all he was only an ordinary human...

"Well, we don't mean to keep you and your beautiful wife anymore, but we'd love to have you over for dinner, sometime, wouldn't we Lana?"

"Of course," Lana gripped Clark's hand. "It's been good to see you again, and if you need anything, don't hesitate to call, or drop by. I mean it."

"Thank you, Lana, Will. We will."

After all the funeral attendees had departed, Clark sighed and turned to Diana. "Are you all right?"

Diana was surprised. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"This must be so strange for you. A place like Smallville, it's very different from Metropolis, you've never...perhaps I shouldn't have brought you here..."

She gripped his arm. "We've known each other for years. I've always fought by your side. Now we are handfast for only a month and you think I should no longer stay by you?"

"That's not what I meant-"

"Then what?"

Clark Kent - Kal-el - was silent for a long moment, his head bent. The later afternoon wind had picked up and ruffled his black hair. Had had taken off his glasses (as he usually did when people weren't around); in the fading yellow sunlight, Diana saw something she hadn't noticed before. She had wondered how he could maintain his secret identity in a city where Superman was so well known, and where the newspaper was (or had been) well-read. She suddenly realized it was misdirection: most humans expected Superman to be a square-jawed - and square-headed - musclebound hulk. In his pieces on Superman in _The Daily Planet_ Clark had even suggested this. Standing up close to him, she saw how different he actually was: his features were strong but delicate, almost gentle and feminine. He was muscular but not overly bulky, like a steroid-ridden bodybuilder. She supposed it was this quality that made people discount any resemblance between him and the Man of Steel. She suddenly wondered if he had been treated badly as a child in this world.

Clark looked back at the graves of his parents. "I-I want to at least try to get the farm back and working. Dad was struggling so much, but he never told me. I just feel I owe it to him. I don't know how long it may take." He looked at her with apprehension.

Diana almost felt anger. "Do you not remember what I told you? If you were crippled or blinded in battle, if you were no longer this 'Superman', if you decided to be an ordinary journalist for the rest of your days instead...I would not leave you! You do still remember?"

"Of course I do."

"No matter how long you stay herein this village, I will stay with you."

Clark took the warrior Amazon in his arms and held her. For a long time there was nothing but the sound of wind, and birds, the sky and earth.

He hesitated a second, and then asked, "And...your people?"

Diana pulled out his his embrace and looked him in the eyes.

"I..._we_ will deal with that as it comes. Now," she tugged on his hand. "Let's go home."

[Thanks for the reviews everyone! This story will gradually take shape, so please be patient ;) Inspired by the New 52, although I imagine the events to take place some years later, and there might be a few changes. The crossover piece will slowly appear in future chapters, but there will be clues along the way. It's one I don't think has been done on this site yet, so may be something new! Superman is definitely with Henry Cavill in mind. I'd like to imagine Diana and the Amazons (they'll show up later to cause trouble for Clark!) speaking a bit like the characters in the Showtime Spartacus series, but don't know if I can get the cadence right.]


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_One month later…_

Diana hit the ground hard and immediately rolled into a low crouch, coming to a dead rest at the back of the storage shed and low-crawled until she was pressed against the thin wooden wall, her palms resting flat on the hard dirt-and-rock ground. Breathing hard, she looked around with watchful eyes – so far no sign of pursuit. Slowly and cautiously, she peered around the corner of the outbuilding. In front of her was the two-story farmhouse she shared with her husband. Behind it, to her right, was the barn, recently re-painted and repaired. She saw no one else, no sign of movement.

She gauged the distance between herself and her house. It was perhaps 70 yards, more or less. Open field between the backdoor and her, and while she still wore her silver cuffs she had no lasso, no sword or spear. She had only her strength and speed now.

Wide open field. No cover.

She could do it.

Tensing every muscle in her body, Diana took a deep breath and sprinted for it. Five, now ten, now twenty steps, she could see the door getting closer, which meant she was home free…

In the corner of her eye Diana sensed the sudden blur of rapid movement, but before she could react, she felt herself swept off her feet and carried through the air. The ground and sky flashed past her in a millisecond and darkened, and she felt herself falling down roughly onto a bed of strong smelling hay, almost losing her breath.

She lunged forward to her feet but a pair of strong arms pushed her back down, and a grinning, bearded face hovered over hers.

"Barbarian! Filthy Argive!" Diana snarled at him, and doubled her efforts to free herself. Any other man would have been tossed head over ass, but Clark Kent of Smallville, late of Metropolis, only laughed. His strong hands pressed down on her arms, albeit carefully, and his body pressed down on hers at key points, effectively trapping her beneath him.

"You almost made it this time! Come on Diana, admit it, I think you are losing on purpose!"

Diana ceased struggling for the moment, and stared up at him coolly. "I do not throw contests!"

"OK, then that means I beat you fair and square. So tell me, how do you say 'I yield' in Themysciran?" Clark asked mischievously.

Diana growled something in the archaic, Mycenaean-root language of her native land, but while Clark had not yet learned enough of it to be fluent, he presumed that it wasn't a gracious acknowledgement of his victory. It probably was also not a word for use in polite company. He filed it away in his memory along with the other Themysciran words he'd heard Diana use, mostly at night, which he suspected were also quite unsuitable.

"Let me guess…there's no word in your language for 'yield.'"

"Your guess is correct, Kryptonian _man_," Diana pressed the palms of both her hands against his broad chest, and abruptly bucked and kicked simultaneously. Clark fell backwards, and like a flash Diana was atop him, their positions reversed. His eyes widened as Diana pressed her right cuff against his neck. "Never surrender!"

Clark coughed very lightly. "I see your point," his hands slowly reached Diana's thighs, caressed them gently, causing her eyes to widen, and he heard her heartbeat quicken ever so slightly. "Why don't we call it a draw? After all," his hands drifted towards her stomach, "you are a very worthy opponent."

Diana grabbed his wrists, halting their upward movement. "Honeyed words will not work this time," she glared down at him. "Yield to me, or…"

Clark abruptly yanked his arms back, causing Diana to fall forward. He instantly took advantage of the moment and rolled over, once again pinning Diana under him. She shouted in anger at having fallen again for such a rudimentary trick. Her blazing eyes turned up to meet his, breathing hard and furious…and then they both burst out laughing.

Clark pressed his forehead against Diana's. "Or?"

"Or maybe I will take sword and use it to shave this fur from your face, " Diana caressed his cheek; since they had moved here, he had been growing his beard, which had sprouted dark and thick.

"It helps me with my disguise," Clark took her hand and kissed it. "Do you really not like it?"

"It matters not…I think the people of this town would not know what Superman looked like if he dropped from the sky before eyes."

Clark looked at her sadly. " I know you don't like it here. Give it a little more time…"

Diana pulled Clark tight to her. "I will give it all the time in the world," she muttered huskily. "Save time for us now." She pressed her lips against his, and pushed her hips upwards against his groin, feeling his knee spreading her legs apart. All concern disappeared from Clark's mind as his thoughts were entirely focused on the woman in his arms.

* * *

_Darkness._

_A flash of light…then it was gone. Tantalizing. But...it was the wrong color._

_Words, faint, inaudible…not one, several voices, then they were gone too, and he was alone in a void absent of either the yellow light he loved and craved, or the people he loved around him…_

_Clark, what a stupid name!_

_A baby's name for a baby, isn't that what you are? Yeah!_

_He should have a girl's name, that's as funny!_

_He struggled to yell back at the childish voices, but they were coming from such a long distance away…but they were coming closer…and he realized that was NOT what he really wanted. Where was he?_

_Clark, go home you baby, we don't want babies following us._

_But he couldn't go home. He had to keep going forward, even though he was afraid…the voices continued teasing and tormenting him, but he had to follow them. He followed the taunting voices even though something terrible was ahead…the light that wasn't the light, it wasn't the beautiful yellow sunlight he loved and needed….this light was not light...it was GROWING….it was reaching out for HIM…_

_NO!_

Clark struggled, felt something grab at him, and he lashed out wildly, not wanting it to touch him, he could not, _could not_ allow it to touch him. He felt that he would die if it touched him...

"Clark!"

Shocked, he opened his eyes, realized he was sitting upright, in a pile of sticky hay, of all things. Diana was kneeling next to him, her eyes wide with surprise and concern. He realized he had come within a hair's breath of striking her as he was flailing about in his…nightmare?

"Oh! Diana, I'm sorry, I didn't hit you did I?"

"No, but you were shouting in your sleep. What was it?"

"Umm…just a bad dream, I think," Still a bit dazed, he looked around for his clothes, strewn about in their lovemaking the night before. The morning's thin rays were just starting to emerge to clear out the darkness of the early dawn, coming through the open slats of the barn walls. "We probably shouldn't have spent the night in the barn!" he joked.

Diana watched him carefully. She was trained to emerge from sleep at a hair's notice of danger, and Clark's moaning in his sleep (not that he ever slept much at all) had alerted her instantly. Whatever he had been dreaming about, it had sounded like he was terrified, as if he were a child.

The thought of Superman being terrified even in a dream was disturbing to her, to say the least.

"What did you dream?"

Clark suddenly looked blank and she couldn't tell if that meant that it was something he could not recall, or just did not want to tell her. That worried her as well. She didn't like to think he would keep something from her just so she would not be _worried_.

"It was…well, I don't really remember," he said dismissively. "Maybe just all the work we've been doing around the farm, all the changes..."

Diana looked at him soberly as he talked, even as she started putting on her clothes. She didn't want to embarrass him, but she couldn't put aside her concern as easily as that.

"Dreams may have no meaning, be as insubstantial as smoke, or they can be a portent of future troubles or joys," she said gravely. "Do not laugh!"

"It was only a dream, it's nothing to be worried about. It's already forgotten," Clark smiled at her reassuringly. "Come on, let's go into town. We have a lot to do today."

He clearly did not want to discuss it, so Diana did not push him. However, she would remember.

[Thanks again for the reviews! I know these are short chapters, but I feel more comfortable writing in short bursts. Clark and Diana will finally get to the "Red House" by the next chapter - I hope ;) ]


	4. Chapter 4

[Warning: Adult language ahead]

Chapter Four

_Morning_

Clark carefully dressed in the old suit-and-tie he used to wear when he worked at the _Daily Planet_, while Diana took her morning shower. The clothes almost felt strange to him, now that he wore overalls and boots for work around the farm, but today he had to go the bank, to try to negotiate an extension on the loan to keep the buisness afloat. He – and Diana –had made great progress, but even so, it was tough going, much tougher than he'd expected. Still, despite the terrible economy and the ongoing drought, he was optimistic.

After he finished dressing, he sat down at his laptop to check the messages. The first one he opened was the weekly Situation Report from the Watchtower. Bruce had sent it. It was terse and to the point, except for the very end, where he had added a single note:

_And when you get tired of shoveling horseshit, both of you get back here and get to work._

This was definitely a change from his prior attitude when he and Diana had taken their "temporary leave of absence" from the League - Bruce had more or less had some sharp words for Clark's decision to go home, taking Diana with him. Bruce had not so much used "leave of absence" than "dereliction of duty." Clark had been surprised by his angry reaction, and by his equal hostile reaction to Diana's choice to accompany him (it didn't seem to help he'd also learned that they'd gotten married). At the time, unlike the other League members, Bruce had implied that it would be fine with him if they never came back – but now his tune was different. Maybe he had his hands full now. Well, Clark shrugged, he could shoulder the load for a bit longer, and see how he liked it for a change!

There was another email from Hal, and one from Barry asking how things were going. Clark's hands flashed over the keyboard, sending them quick replies. He scrolled down.

No message from Lois.

A Skype request came on. Clark saw whom it was from and quickly looked over his shoulder at the closed bathroom door. Diana was still in the shower, and would be in there for a few minutes more. He accepted the Skype request, and grinned widely as Jimmy Olsen's face appeared on the screen.

"Clark!" Jimmy said cheerfully. "Oh my god! What is that thing on your face?"

Clark laughed and rubbed his beard. "My new look!"

"You look like one of those survivalists on the Discovery Channel. Hey, when are you going to come back to Metropolis? It hasn't been the same here without you!"

Clark's grin faded a bit. "I'm still trying to get the farm running again. Dad was doing his best, but it was getting too much for him. He was on the verge of losing it when, when…he and Mom died."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But Clark, what if you can't?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I hate to think of losing this place."

Jimmy nodded. "Like when the _Daily Planet_ closed. Poor Mr. White, I guess it was almost a blessing he passed when he did. I don't think he would have liked what happened!"

After Perry White died from a heart attack, the _Daily Planet_ had become the _Daily World_, "re-imagined" as a celebrity-focused publication. Lois Lane had taken up a job as its editor-in-chief, a move that had upset Clark, who had viewed it as unworthy of her talents, especially for a serious journalist who had exposed crime-rings and traveled to war-zones. He had tried to tell her this, but somehow both had ended up exchanging hurtful words, and Lois had not spoken to him since then, at least several months. Clark was sure he'd handled it badly. Jimmy had gone to work as a paparazzi and was making five times the salary than he'd had at the _Planet_, enough to live on without a roommate, in fact, enough to put a down payment on a condo in the city.

Clark hesitated a moment, then asked: "How…how's Lois doing?"

"Oh, she's great! She just wrote an article for _Ms_." Jimmy rooted around on his desk, and then held up the issue. The cover was a photo of the Justice League's visit to the National Capitol, with Wonder Woman prominently featured, and the headline: "THE WORLD NEEDS WONDER WOMAN."

"Oh," Clark said.

"You know Lois, the article is not so much about Wonder Woman as about her," Jimmy chuckled. "A lot of stuff about how Wondy is important for girls' self-esteem and speaking up for truth, blah blah, so Lois goes on about her 'life's journey' and concludes that she now has to be true to herself too, so now she is out of the closet and a lesbian! Hah! I always knew it! She's dating some Hollywood A-list actress now."

"Um…"

"But don't worry Clark, she doesn't mention you at all! So I'm sure it wasn't your fault. But you can tell she's _dying_ to get an interview with Wonder Woman. In fact, Wonder Woman is _the_ thing for all the other photogs – to try to get a shot of her. Even better, to try to get a shot of her in the buff! The word on the street is that it could be worth over a million bucks! Jeez, if I could get that, I could retire," Jimmy remarked wistfully.

"Really."

"Anyway, back to you Clark: I know your heart's set on home, but think about coming back to Metropolis. I know you don't like this kind of journalism-"

"It's not journalism…" Clark muttered.

"But it pays really, really good! _The Daily World_ is even going to get its own cable show. It's going to come out in the fall. Even if you only did this for a little while, well, maybe you could afford to buy another farm, or do something else."

Clark shook his head firmly. "I'm happy here."

"So, um…how's Diana? Is she still mad at me?"

"She's forgotten all about it, Jimmy. You should come out and visit us."

He shook his head. "Oh, _hell_ no! I think she would shoot me if she saw me again. I know she's your wife now and all, but come on, you had some quickie wedding…"

"We had a handfasting."

"...To which you didn't invite me, your best friend! We never even got to give you a bachelor's party. And anyway, how long have you even known Diana? She seems so angry! How can you be sure she's not just some ex-stripper out for your money..."

"Jimmy, that's my _wife_ you're talking about-"

"Ok, ok, it's just that I _care_ about you, dude. You came off Lois and then right after that-"

"But Lois and I never were-"

"-you've up and married this mystery woman. You're my best friend and I just don't want to see you hurt, is all. I _know_ you haven't had that much experience with the ladies, so…"

Clark heard the shower turn off and said hurriedly. "Jimmy, I've got to go…"

"See what I mean Clark, you're afraid of her too! Hey, whenever you need to talk I'm here for you and I _mean_ it, Clark…"

"I'll talk to you later Jimmy," Clark's hand hovered over the keyboard.

"Remember what we guys used to say at the _Planet_!" Jimmy said loudly, just as the bathroom door opened and before Clark could delete the session. "Bros before hos, Clark! Bros before hos!"

* * *

The drive into Smallville was quiet.

Neither of them were frequent drivers but the feeling of traveling by car had the therapeutic effect of slowing down time, and their senses almost to a crawl. Sometimes that was exactly what they needed, to have some time to think, and to take a breath. Also, the sensation of riding in an open car during warm weather was very pleasant and calming, and the air wasn't as smoggy as Metropolis, at least. Clark's car was a BMW Z4, the only splurge he had made when he received his severance pay from the _Daily Planet_. They certainly couldn't fly into downtown Smallville.

Clark usually drove on their excursions into town. He paid close attention to the road, even though there was no traffic. Diana sat next to him, dressed in a light cotton blouse and shorts, with sunglasses on. The drive from their farm into Smallville took a half-hour, and for part of that time they said nothing to each other.

"I will repair computer, Clark," Diana finally said, breaking the silence.

"It's no big deal," Clark sighed. "But you shouldn't take what Jimmy says so seriously."

"Odious runt attempted violation and you still speak with him!"

"Diana, he didn't try to 'violate' you, he just…walked in on you. Sort of."

Clark vividly remembered the one time Diana had been in the small apartment he'd once shared with Jimmy Olsen. They had both been off duty, relaxing in a nearby nightclub, when a fight had broken out. Diana had suppressed it, but had gotten splashed with a lot of liquor in the process. She had returned to his apartment to clean up, and then Jimmy had returned from a party of his own, completely wasted. Clark had still been at the club, trying to calm tensions and talking to the police. Jimmy being Jimmy had simply walked in the bathroom, thinking it was Clark in the shower, and dropped his pants to take a whiz. Clark had returned just in time to see Diana whip back the curtain and Jimmy, his pants around his thighs, his "offending member" in his hands, goggling wide-eyed at a very naked and very angry Diana.

"Clark?" he'd gasped. "Oh, my God! Wha'-wha's happened to you…?"

He'd tried to spin around, but being drunk and tangled up in his clothes, he'd fallen virtually on top of her, passing out simultaneously. Clark was glad he'd been there before something exceedingly nasty had happened to his friend.

"And he thought I was you."

Diana looked at him, and then stared straight ahead. "He is lucky to retain fucking head!"

Clark started laughing.

She glared at him. "What?"

"Only that…our first fight is over Jimmy Olsen!"

Diana couldn't help but smile at Clark's good humor. "You have loyal friends," she said. "Perhaps that is all that matters."

Diana's restored mood dimmed slightly as they arrived in downtown Smallville. She knew Clark had a different view of it, but as Metropolis was the only place she'd really lived on her own, it was hard not to compare the munificence of the city – the ice cream and gelato parlors, the gourmet food trucks, the boutiques and clubs and theaters – with what she found here in the aptly-named Smallville: boarded-up and closed stores, dingy thrift shops, Goodwill, a scattering of Mexican _taquerias_ to accommodate the migrant workers, and the solitary grocery store marked only by the sign FOOD. Clark's BMW stood out as he pulled up to the Smallville Home Diner and parked next to old and battered pickup trucks.

Clark turned the engine off. "I'm going to stop in here. Do you want to come in?"

Diana shook her head. He remembered she'd eaten here once and claimed to be sick for an entire morning.

"I'll get the gift for tonight while you eat."

Clark nodded, and they kissed before they separated. He watched as she crossed the street, then he entered the diner.

The diner was a longtime Smallville fixture, and although he didn't much need the food, Clark had fond memories of when he'd come here with his parents whenever they came into town on the weekends (which had been busier then). It was still busy inside the diner, but there was always a place to sit. He saw someone he recognized and smiled, sliding into the seat at the counter next to him.

'Old Man' Johnson was, as his nickname suggested, old, and a farmer – he'd been one of Jonathan and Martha's Kent's oldest friends. He was even a kind of elder in the town, although he'd been a long time retired from any public duties. Clark always remembered him as an old man too, almost like a grandfather figure when he was growing up. He owned the farm closest to the Kents, and still lived there, even though his own wife had passed away and his kids had grown and moved on years ago. His memory was failing, but he'd recognized Clark when he'd come back.

"Clark! Where've ya been boy?" the elderly man leaned forward and gave Clark a hug, which he returned as gently as he could, sensitive to his brittle bones. "I've been sitting here drinking this godawful coffee all morning all by myself."

"Why didn't you call? I would have given you a ride here."

"What? Ohhh no, once my kids find out I'm taking rides, they'll try to get my driver's license taken away, they've been trying to for years. They can pry my license away from my cold dead hands!" He coughed, his solid white mustache bristling. "You still takin' care of your Pa's place?"

"Best as I can," Clark took a sip of the coffee. "I need to see if I can get another loan."

Old Man Johnson snorted, then coughed into his napkin. "Good luck with that," he growled. "They're trying to drive all fam'ly farms out of business, families selling out because they can't manage any more, goddamn corporations..."

Clark barely heard him rambling, thinking of how tough it was going to be. He was afraid the old man was right. Smallville was dying and he was helpless to prevent it. Surely there had to be something he could do.

"…And another thing they're tryin' to do, doing some 'Historical District' idea, tourism, like any tourists would want to come _here_…"

"Maybe it could work," Clark rubbed his beard, thinking. Maybe he could start a blog about Smallville, touting its small town virtues, start writing and being a journalist again...

Suddenly, the old man gripped his arm in a surprisingly tough hold. Clark looked up in surprise.

"Dam' fools even thinking of turning the Red House into a tourist attraction! _That_ place!"

Clark wasn't sure what he meant; he had only a vague idea that there were some old 1920s-era houses in the area, long neglected. "The Red House?"

"That accursed place!" Old Man Johnson's eyes suddenly grew dark and his prawn-like mustache trembled. "Your Pa and I always thought that it should have been bulldozed over! We should have dun it ourselves…" his words turned into inaudible mutterings.

"What?" Clark stared at him, feeling just the faintest pull of memory. His father? "What are you talking-?"

"Excuse me? Aren't you Clark Kent?"

Clark turned around, leaving the old man mumbling to himself, to see a tall, tough-looking man in motorcycle garb looking down at him, unsmiling. The man had a scar under his jawline, and a Marine high-and-tight haircut.

"Do you remember me?"

"You look familiar….wait, you're-"

"Staff Sergeant John Corben. 5th Marines Scout Sniper," the man smiled and held out his hand. "Oohrah."

[Thank you for all the reviews! I didn't expect so many already! This story is taking longer than I thought to write! I wanted to add a little marital tension here, in the form of the Single Friends. Hopefully I can get it done, or most of it, by Halloween. Almost, but not quite, gotten to the 'Red House' yet, although we'll get a better picture of it as Clark and Diana finally see it next chapter! Yes that is the John Corben, pre-Metallo. This is mostly a cameo appearance but he has a vital role to play later on].


	5. Chapter 5

[Warning: more adult language ahead]

Chapter Five

"Staff Sergeant Corben!" Clark recognized the Marine platoon commander, from the time when he had been an embedded reporter in Afghanistan, along with Lois and Jimmy on assignment for the _Daily Planet. _He shook the man's hand. "How are you?"

"It's just John now," the man smiled, although his eyes did not. "I'm not in the Corps any longer. Got downsized, with everyone else I guess. I'm surprised to see you here! I didn't recognize you at first with the beard. Are you doing a story?"

"No," Clark said ruefully. "_The Daily Planet_ got downsized too. I live here now: this is my old hometown."

"Real sorry to hear that," Corben replied. "Can't say I really cared for your paper, but I want you to know me and my men enjoyed your article. You were truthful, at least. I respect that." Corben hadn't liked most of the embedded reporters he'd had to endure over several deployments. Not only were they civilians, but most of them were pansies, in his opinion, literally pissing their pants at distant sounds of enemy gunfire, bitching about the lack of amenities, then going back and writing lies about how the troops were nothing but a bunch of thugs. Kent had been different, though, even though Corben could tell he was a pacifist, but at least he wrote an honest story, even if he criticized the war. "What are you doing now?"

"I'm a farmer."

"No fucking way! Really?"

Clark nodded. "It's what I used to do before I became a reporter. Do you live around here?"

Corben shook his head. "Just passing through, looking at some real estate. It's cheaper here than in Metropolis, or Topeka, for that matter. I'm trying to start my own business." He reached intro a pocket and handed him a card. Clark put on his glasses and looked at it. It read:

METALLO TACTICAL INDUSTRIES

John Corben, CEO & Owner

"'Metallo?'"

Corben laughed, a raspy sound. "I'm trying to think of a catchy name to compete with all the other companies out there. My ex-wife actually came up with it, and I can't think of anything better for the moment. I'd better though, or else that bitch will try to sue me, that is, if I ever start making any money. She'll claim she came up with the idea."

"You got divorced." Clark remembered that in Afghanistan he had told him he was married, and wanted to have kids. He had written that into his story, emphasizing the family lives of the people sent in harm's way.

"I found out that she cheated on me on my last deployment, and the deployment before that too," Corben said. "I guess it was inevitable. We didn't really know each other. I think she liked the idea of being married to a 'hero,'" he said the last word with a touch of bitterness. "Guess a hero wasn't what she really wanted."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be, I'm much better off now, I-"

"Clark?"

Diana touched Clark's shoulder, looking at the former Marine.

"John, this is my wife Diana." He noticed how Corben's eyes softened upon seeing her; he noticed that she had that effect on even the toughest men.

"Pleased to meet you ma'am," John shook her hand, and was impressed by her strong grip. "Just reminiscing with your husband. We were overseas in Helmand Province, together. All of us liked him."

Diana nodded, acknowledging another warrior. "Welcome back."

"Well, I gotta get going. Good luck with the farming, and maybe I'll see you around."

Clark shook his hand goodbye. "Good luck also."

With a nod to Diana, Corben picked up his motorcycle helmet and left. Clark saw him give one last backwards glance at Diana before he revved his Harley and sped away.

Clark grasped Diana's free left hand, the right held a plastic shopping bag. "Did you get it?"

She held up the bag, which contained a wine bottle, and some baking supplies. "Best I could find…for $10."

Clark remembered Old Man Johnson, who in the meantime had fallen silent, staring into his cup of coffee. He gently touched him on the shoulder. "Sir? Do you remember Diana? You met her at the funeral home."

"Boy, how many times have I told you to stop calling me 'Sir' and call me Ed, that's my Christian name!" The old man was suddenly alert, apparently forgetting his peculiar rambling a few minutes ago. "Of course I remember your beautiful wife! How are you, little lady? Come sit on my lap!"

Clark held his breath. Before they had even begun the move to Smallville, Clark had explained to Diana that there were certain unwritten social mores of small-town life. Sometimes, the older members of these communities were granted certain allowances regarding speech and act, to a degree. In particular, acts which would not be tolerated for an instant in more "politically correct" places like Metropolis could either be accepted or ignored in a place like Smallville. Especially from men on the other side of ninety. Diana had listened gravely to Clark's instruction and nodded. Now she revealed how much she had learned.

Diana smiled graciously at the old farmer. "Silence tongue, old fart," she said primly. "Before it is silenced for you!"

Clark exhaled. The old man smiled broadly as if she had just accepted his marriage proposal. Diana pulled on Clark's hand. "Come, you will be late for your meeting."

He paid his bill, and surreptitiously the old man's also. "I'll be seeing you, Ed."

"Don't be such a stranger, Clark, both of you are welcome at the old place anytime, especially you, young lady!" Diana waved a hand at him.

The old man took his cane and began hobbling towards the door. As Diana went to hold the door open for him, he suddenly turned back to Clark and gripped his arm, again. That unexpected look of anger and anxiety had returned to the man's face. Clark stopped, stunned.

"Should have been plowed under!" he gasped. "No dam' tourist ought to go there, that's what I say. You of all people should remember, Clark! It's no good!"

Before Clark could say anything, Old Man Johnson turned and stumbled out, mumbling about how the utility prices were going to drive him into the poorhouse; already he had probably forgotten what he had just said. Diana watched him go curiously.

"Is he all right?" she asked. "He talks of many things."

"He's a tough old guy," Clark said. "But he's getting more forgetful I think."

"Is anything wrong?" Diana stared at him. "You look troubled."

"No, I'm all right. It's just the bank meeting. Come one, let's go."

_Afternoon_

_I've fought monsters and aliens, and dealt with heads of state, but somehow I feel more intimidated here than anywhere else,_ Clark thought, sitting in front of the loan officer's desk at the Smallville Farmer's Savings and Loan. Diana sat next to him. The prematurely balding young man on the other side of the big desk was looking through a stack of documents, occasionally at his computer screen. Clark remembered how his father would return from these appointments at the bank either relieved or upset or downright grumpy.

_The son becomes the father, _Clark suddenly thought, and he held back a smile. It wouldn't do to not look serious here.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Kent, but although everything looks in order, I don't think we can go ahead with the loan."

Clark sucked in a breath, and felt Diana's hand press on his. "Why not?"

"Well…although you've managed to take care of Mr. Kent – Mr. Jonathan Kent's – debts and other outstanding obligations, your land falls just under the recommended acreage and projected output in order for us to consider the amount you are requesting. The issue is not just with your farm, Mr. Kent, this applies to all taxable…"

Clark felt incredible frustrated, and he could tell Diana was feeling much the same. He was well familiar with her temper, so he carefully squeezed her hand.

"So…what are my options?"

The loan officer pressed his fingertips together. "You have several options, Mr. Kent. I believe you still want to keep on the farming, am I correct? Yes, well, despite what you may have heard in the media and…from others…consider becoming a franchise operator for CONSANTO."

Clark frowned. "The GMO conglomerate?" The loan officer nodded and handed him a glossy brochure. Apparently he had a stack of these prepared. Clark and Diana looked at it. According to the brochure, CONSANTO produced genetically modified crops, which were sold throughout the world. Its factory farms operated fairly, paid its employees great wages, and was the solution for world hunger.

"CONSANTO INDUSTRIES - GOOD FOR THE PLANET, GOOD FOR YOU!"

On the back in small print: _A subsidiary of Luthor Corporation_.

It took a lot of effort for Clark not to crumple the brochure in his fist. "Are there any other options?" he asked thickly.

"Well…you can always sell off some acreage for the short-term, but unless Kansas decides to legalize medicinal hemp, there are really no profitable crops to…"

"I don't have to become rich. I just want the farm to become self-sufficient."

The loan officer looked surprised. "You can always be self-sufficient, in a way. But consider: would it be worth it, all the labor and work invested when instead you could be guaranteed a livelihood?"

"Slaves can be guaranteed a livelihood," Diana finally erupted, unable to keep silent. "And it is worth any price to be free!"

"We'll think about it," Clark said to the stunned bank employee, returning the brochure. "Thanks for seeing us."

_Afternoon_

After running a few more errands, Diana and Clark started the drive for home. Her mood had not much improved since the disappointing news at the bank.

"Why does this government hinder those who work the land in this world? On Themyscira, those Amazons who chose to farm rather than fight are still held in high respect."

"It's more complicated than that, here," Clark muttered.

Diana stared incredulously at him. "You would accept their judgment?"

"I…don't know," Clark stared straight ahead, not looking at her. "I'm just as frustrated as you are. I'll have to think about what to do next."

Diana fell silent. He guessed that she was probably disturbed by his passive reaction, but at the moment his mind was not really on the meeting, or even the farm right now.

_The Red House! That accursed place!_

He wondered what Old Man Johnson had been talking about, and why the subject of the Red House had brought that extraordinary reaction out of him. He grew up here in Smallville, he was familiar with every inch of this rural community, but although most of the locals in Smallville had heard of the Red House (or the older ones at least) he couldn't recall ever being at the Red House himself.

Or had he?

Clark caught sight of an unmarked dirt road coming up on his right. He didn't hesitate. He turned the BMW off the highway onto the track, raising a cloud of dust.

Surprised, Diana asked, "What are you doing?"

"Just a little detour. Shouldn't be long."

Clark drove down the dirt road, which was level and well maintained, so the car had no trouble negotiating the occasional ruts and turns. Clark didn't offer any further explanation, despite his wife's puzzled look. After nearly ten minutes, the road broadened and gradually inclined; a few minutes more, and they saw it.

The Red House.

Actually, its color was no longer really red; time and the elements had faded it to more of a shade of pinkish red, although the color varied in uneven patches along its walls. It was a two-perhaps-three-story building, rather sizeable, with a peaked roof of dark slate tiles. The architecture was in the old art-deco style once fashionable in Europe before World War II. One side of the house had a square tower with a round clock built into it near the top, although it was clearly no longer functioning, its glass covering broken. There were only a few windows, shuttered and boarded. A chain link fence ran around the perimeter of the building, preventing any direct access.

Clark pulled up as close as he could to the fence and turned the engine off. For a moment there was almost complete silence, no sound except for the insects and birds. He got out and slowly walked towards the fence. Diana likewise stepped out of the car, looking around her.

"What is this place?" she asked.

There was a sign at the locked entry, which in block lettering stated that this was private property, no entry allowed. The lock was a simple large padlock and chain. The fence was about 7 feet tall, held in place by concrete weights, and looked as if it were placed here recently. He reached out and held onto the fence, staring through the links at the house.

Had he been here before? If he had, he ought to have remembered it clearly...if there was something to remember. Then why did he feel as if he was doing something wrong? He was feeling like he was a child again, testing the limits of his abilities, as he once had.

_When he was a child..._

If he wanted to get a closer look at the house, it would of course be nothing if he wanted to bypass the flimsy fence, even an ordinary human could get by it with a few seconds of effort. He strained to listen...but clearly there was no one else around and if he tried to look hard enough he could...

"Husband?"

Clark turned around, saw his wife staring at him curiously. "I'm sorry...what did you say?"

Diana looked at the house, which just seemed like another ordinary dwelling. It did not look too badly decayed, and could still be habitable. "What is this?"

"It's known in these parts as the Red House, even though it's not really all red. It's one of Smallville's oldest buildings still standing, I think, maybe from the 1920s or earlier. This whole area used to be a part of downtown Smallville...the town used to be alot bigger then, not as big as Metropolis of course but..."

"Why are we here?"

Clark struggled for an explanation. "Just something Old Man Johnson said, that they were going to turn this area - this house - into a historical district to attract tourists from out of town. He didn't like the idea."

_Your Pa and I always thought that it should have been bulldozed over!_

"Why not? If it could bring life back to this village, perhaps raise its fortunes...it could be a good thing."

"I don't know," Clark said slowly. "Something about this place...no one ever comes out here."

_Not since..._

_You of all people should remember, Clark!_

"For what reason not?" Diana teased him "Is it haunted? Did you ever see ghosts here?"

"No!"

That came out more sharply than he intended. Diana was looking at him strangely. Clark suddenly felt ridiculous, and a little irritated. "No, of course there's no ghosts here. The old man's always been afraid of change in the town. Dad was the same way sometimes," he looked at his watch. "It's getting late. We better get home soon if we're going to be ready for the party."

Clark returned to the car, without another look at the Red House. Diana followed, thoughtful. Something was bothering him, but it could hardly be this lonely site; she was sure it had to do with the problems with the farm. Later, she would wish she had followed her first instinct.

[Again thanks for all the reviews! Hopefully will have next chapter up soon, and a character from Diana's past will turn up]


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_Evening_

Because they had been so busy, first with the funeral, then the move to Smallville, then restoring the farm, the Kents had not gone out to enjoy themselves in quite some time, and they both thought it was long overdue. Therefore it was a pleasure to accept Lana Lang-Richardson's invitation to a dinner party at her home. The dinner was a kind of potluck, one of Lana's "get-together ideas" which she hosted every other month with her co-workers and old friends from high school. Some of them also remembered Clark from their school days, and so it gave him the motivation to take up the invitation.

Clark himself was happy for the opportunity to see his old friend Lana again in much more pleasant circumstances than their first reunion, so Diana had agreed to go with him; she wanted to make every effort to try to assimilate into his culture, just as she had first assimilated into Man's World, and hopefully with less mistakes.

Lana lived with her husband Will in a large house in one of Smallville's suburbs. Their place had a lovely manicured lawn, spacious backyard, and two late-model cars in the driveway. Lana worked as a substitute teacher, while Will taught at the state college, commuting every other day. They didn't have any children, which allowed them to furnish their home extravagantly on a Middle Eastern theme. Watercolors of scenes from the _Arabian Nights_, tiles imported from Morocco, and various knickknacks and rugs purchased in souks and bazaars throughout Egypt, Dubai, and Israel decorated the walls and floors of their comfortable home.

"It fits with Will's job," Lana explained to Diana after dinner while they chatted with other the women in the living room, while the men (Clark included) had gone outside to do what Lana called "guy talk." Diana thought that the segregation was strange, but it seemed to be accepted here (she supposed that with her people's own tradition of segregation, she shouldn't be too surprised). Lana and Diana had formed a close friendship, partly based on Clark's relationship to both of them, partly because Diana felt comfortable talking with the friendly and generous young woman. "He teaches Middle Eastern Studies at the college. Of course that's a popular topic nowadays, so he's always busy."

"He's a bright teacher," one of the other, older ladies said. "My son was in his freshman class last semester. It was packed, he said."

"Greece, that's in the Middle East, isn't it?" another woman asked no one in particular, a lady with the biggest hair Diana had ever seen. "That's where you're from, Diana, right?"

She nodded carefully. "Yes…one of the islands not far from the mainland."

"I knew it! That's how you can make this delicious _baklava_," Lana smiled. The other women at the party also nodded and said how much they enjoyed it. Diana couldn't help but feel a definite sense of pride at their happiness (and her baking skills, of all things). For a moment, she almost felt as if she was back home in Themyscira – enjoying the companionship of women around her. Of course it was not exactly the same, but the feeling was there.

The hours passed and Diana felt herself relaxing more; she had initially doubted whether she could truly fit in, but now she was beginning to think it might really be possible. Light contemporary music played in the background and the air was filled with good conversation. She was meeting many of these people for the first time, and was relieved that the questions directed at her were friendly and genuine, rather than rude and interrogating, which she often experienced when she lived in Metropolis.

Towards the end of the evening, Diana helped Lana finish up in the kitchen. "Oh, you don't have to do this, Diana."

"I don't mind," she glanced out the window and saw her husband still talking with the other men in the backyard. "How long will they be out there?"

"Oh, they would be out there all night if I let them!" Lana looked at Diana and dared a question. "How...how do you like Clark? I mean, you look very happy together. My mom used to call that 'a good fit.'"

Diana grinned, putting the other woman at ease. "I'm very happy with him. He is a strong and caring man, but you knew that too. You've known him longer than I have."

Lana almost blushed. "I have to tell you...I had the biggest crush on him when we were in high school!"

"Why did you not take him?"

Lana now definitely blushed. It was one of the things she liked about Diana, though, she could be so direct! "I guess I felt like I wasn't good enough for him. He was - is - so handsome, and smart too! We all knew he wasn't meant for just staying on in Smallville. But I mean, we're glad he's come back. With you too - I'm glad he's found someone."

"You also found someone of your own, that is a blessing too. How did you meet your husband?"

"Thanks, Diana! Will and I met in college, when I was getting my teaching license. He was a real scholar. My uncle even wrote him a recommendation for graduate school. We married not long after that. He's just so busy now, we hardly see each other," Lana sighed. "I don't know if we'll ever get around to having kids. Will's always got some new project on his mind. What about you and Clark? Have you talked about that?"

Diana paused a moment. "I...don't know what we shall decide, yet."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried."

"No apology is needed," Diana sensed that somehow the topic was a sensitive one for her friend. Perhaps this was a person she could confide in, if...

"Hey ladies!"

Clark and Will entered the kitchen, the latter holding a bottle of beer in his hand. "What are you getting up to in here?" Will asked.

Lana laughed. "Girl talk," she said. "You're intruding."

"Whoops, my bad. Clark, we'd better get out of here before we get in trouble," the way he said it suggested that he believed in no such thing, at least this was how it sounded to Diana. For some reason she felt an aversion to the man, but she couldn't pin down why.

"We should be getting home soon anyway," Clark nodded to Diana. "We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

"We're so glad the two of you came tonight," Lana said. "Let me wrap up some food for you to take home."

"Lana, it's still on the dining room table."

"I'll help you,"Clark added.

Lana and Clark headed out, and Diana made to follow, but then felt Will take hold of her elbow. She turned to see Will standing behind her motionless. He had a slight smile on his face, which she thought as hollow as the wooden horse of Troy.

"Diana," he said genially. "I've been meaning for an opportunity to speak to you."

Something about the man's behavior put her on her guard. He was standing quite close to her, which she was sure was deliberate. "Yes?"

"Lana says you have a great deal of knowledge of ancient Greek culture. That's very rare in a woman…or any person."

"What is it you want?" Diana wasn't much for preamble, and she felt that the soonest she could end this conversation, the better. She didn't care for the way he was looking at her, but she wondered if she might be misjudging him again. He was Clark's friend, after all, like that Olsen.

Will blinked, and then his smile seemed to grow even larger, revealing his white teeth. "Oh if you could know what I want," he said, for a split second Diana felt a nearly unmistakable sense of menace emanating from him. Yet before she could react to that, his attitude seemed to undergo an abrupt change, and he added quietly. "I wonder if you would be interested in some part-time work, doing translation and proofreading some materials I'm researching, for a book on ancient religions. It can't pay very much, but it might be something you'd be interested in."

Diana was caught off guard by the request. "I…would have to think about that. What kind of materials?"

"It's just some old books and manuscripts. I still have to go through them, they're very old and delicate and I need to make sure they can be handled without damage. Lana inherited them from her uncle, Dr. Potter, when he passed away, at 105! I think he set the record for Smallville's oldest resident!" Will laughed. "His house was just full of stuff, most of it junk, but I think we got the more valuable stuff…some of it we kept, others we sold and made a pretty penny too. But think about it. You must be terribly bored sitting in that farmhouse, by yourself. If you'd like, you could even come up to the university and work out of my office," suddenly that leering tone was back, although Diana could not quite be sure it was really there. "You can call Lana and she'll give you my office number."

She nodded slowly. "Thank you. I will call Lana."

Will gave her that tight smile again, then walked away, calling out to Lana to let the Kents have the extra wine bottles too. Diana stood there alone a moment, thinking. Had she really felt a threat? Or had she imagined it? It bothered her that she could not be quite sure. This was Lana's husband, and surely her friend was not mistaken about him. Perhaps there was nothing to it, and he was just trying to be "flirty." Men were truly bizarre creatures, Diana thought, as she rejoined her husband and the others taking their leave. Sometimes Clark fit into that category as well!

_Several days later_

Clark realized just how much he had missed working on the farm, as he tinkered with the engine of his dad's old tractor. He discovered that he no longer missed being shackled at his desk at the _Planet_ every day. Instead, being outdoors, feeling the warm yellow sun on his naked back, it was wonderful. He was dressed only in a well-worn pair of coveralls, the straps tied around his waist, revealing his broad and muscular chest. As he worked on the machine (occasionally using his heat vision for soldering), he thought about Lana's suggestion to write about the early history of Smallville. Perhaps that could be the basis of a blog he could write, making people aware of how much there was to see in these old country towns. He could also write about how the family farms were so vital to the economy, how they were the real backbone of the nation's agriculture. Perhaps he could enlist others in Smallville to add contributions, and it could be a group effort.

He remembered standing outside with some of the other guys at Lana and Will's party, talking. The issue had come up of the declining population of Smallville, and the plans the town had to create a new "Historical District" in order to lure tourists. About half the guys thought the idea had merit, while some others didn't think it could work in a place like Smallville, which really had nothing particularly noticeable about its past.

Clark had learned then that Lana and Will were all for the idea of renovating Smallville's old downtown and doing that. "Smallville really does have some history," Will had said. "Not just the farming, but back in the day, alot of freethinkers came out here, Bohemian types from the Roaring Twenties, even before from the Gilded Age. There was even an artists colony in town. They built mansions out here, with all their old family money."

Will was really warming up to the topic, like he was trying to sell the idea to the skeptics. Clark remembered the detour he and Diana had made earlier in the day.

"You mean places like the Red House?"

Will stopped talking and glanced at Clark. "Yes. It was one of the well-known places. It used to be a-"

"Never heard of it," one of the other guys snorted. He had been on the football team when Clark was at Smallville High. "A bunch of crumbling old buildings doesn't make a tourist trap. You need something that brings in money."

"It's still in good shape," Clark said. "That could be a place to be renovated, turned into something like that."

He had remembered that Will was staring at him. "You've seen it?"

"Diana and I drove out there today. There was a fence around it."

"I know. I put it there. We bought it...or actually, I'm the custodian. It might be the first building we fix up."

There had been a strange light in Will's eyes and his ebullient mood seemed to have curdled somewhat, as if he wasn't happy someone else had been out there. Just then someone changed the subject slightly, and the conversation had drifted towards the economy again, then sports and football. The subject of the historical district (and the Red House) hadn't been brought up again that evening, but Clark's journalist nerve had been sparked. He felt there was too much happening that he was unaware of. Was this why Old Man Johnson had been upset, that the Red House was going to be fixed up? And why hadn't...

"You there. Boy."

Clark whirled around, surprised. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had not heard someone approach. That had not happened for quite some time.

Behind him stood a statuesque, middle-aged woman, dressed in a dark-colored professional suit that much more suited for the business or government district of Metropolis than out here in rural Smallville; at first Clark took her for someone from the bank. Which might explain the rude attitude! She was looking at him as if he were something she found stuck to her heel.

He wouldn't allow himself to get offended. "Yes?" he asked politely.

"I will see your Mistress. Immediately."

The woman spoke in an unusual, clipped accent, and for a moment Clark just stood there, perplexed. Mistress?

"Your Mistress," she demanded, louder this time. "The Princess Diana of Themyscira."

Clark stood there in complete dismay, as he understood: this was an Amazon! How did she find…? It didn't matter now - they knew Diana was here.

"You do understand the English tongue?"

Clark slowly put aside his tools, taking as long as he could, and silently nodded to the woman, who seemed to be growing exponentially impatient. Unfortunately he could think of nothing else to do at the moment, then to do as she wanted. He was certain Diana was totally not expecting this.

"This way, ma'am."

Clark led the Amazon to the farmhouse, hoping that Diana had at least her wits about her at the moment, since he couldn't think of any tactic to delay her. But he knew this day would have come eventually, and he knew Diana did too. He had hoped, though, that they would have had more time.

As Clark opened the door he could smell the rich smells of baking, and realized Diana was in the kitchen, and felt apprehension grow in him. Then he heard her call out: "Clark! Come, take food. I think I may have gotten your mother's recipe right this time, but try it and see."

"Ah, Diana, there is someone here…" behind him he could feel the Amazon's indignation almost as a palpable sense. No doubt she was thinking, how dare he use his mistress' name so familiarly!

Diana came into view and – oh no – Clark saw that she was quite the picture of domesticity. She was wearing an apron (one of his mother's, no less) and holding a freshly baked apple pie in her hands. She saw the woman behind him and froze.

He quickly glanced at the Amazon. She had exactly the look of a stern and forbidding teacher who had just caught her star pupil toking up in the girl's room. Diana had the look exactly of someone who was totally busted too.

The Amazon recovered herself and gave a curt bow of her head. "My Lady…it gladdens heart to see you…so well."

Diana stiffened and set the pie down on the end-table with a loud rap.

"Lady Gorgo," Diana said curtly. "Why are you here?"

"My Lady should know. Your mother the Queen sends concern for you. She desires to know what has become of her only child in the Man's World, now that she no longer speaks to her sisters. What should I tell her, that I find her in this dung heap of a village, playing as if she were a weak female of this world?"

Diana glared at her. "That is no such thing!"

"Then what are you doing here? This is not your place…" She abruptly stopped and glanced back at Clark, dismissing him with a flap of her hand at him. "Leave us, boy. This does not concern you."

Before Clark could say or do anything, Diana interrupted. "Do not speak to him so!"

Gorgo looked surprised. "What? Why do you allow servant to be privy to our conversation?"

"He is no servant. He is my husband."

If Diana had slapped her hard in the face, the older Amazon could not have looked more scandalized. Clark knew that this was going to go south very quickly.

"What…_madness_ is this?" Gorgo managed to find her voice. "How have you become chattel to this peasant? Has he placed you under some kind of compulsion?"

"Excuse me…"

Both women looked at him.

"I just want to keep things civil," Clark tried again. "Look, Miss…Lady Gorgo, I can explain-"

"Clark, let me discuss this alone with her. Otherwise her discomfort precludes plain talk." Diana looked at him implicitly, and he got the message. Without another word he left meekly, walking past the baffled and incensed Amazon envoy. He stepped back outside, and waited on the porch, but he could hear – and see – everything going on within. He even had learned enough Themysciran by now to understand the speech they reverted to.

"Your…_husband_," Gorgo could barely contain her distaste. "How could this happen?"

"It is done," Diana said flatly. "Freedom was granted to make decisions in this world. This is what I choose. I was not forced."

"I do not believe you! My best pupil would not surrender herself to be despoiled by a common…plough hand!"

Diana felt her fingernails bite into her palms. "Who I choose to lie with is none of your concern, Gorgo. Why are you here?"

The imposing elder Amazon clasped her hands together tightly. "The Queen Hippolyta sends me…as you must have known she would, upon discovering that her daughter had abandoned the Man's City. She has searched for you these past months, fearing that you had been taken away and hurt."

Diana rather doubted that. If that were so, she'd have hardly sent a single Amazon. More likely she was upset that Diana refused to be spied upon. "I have not abandoned anything."

"Then you are here on assignment perhaps? You are on an important mission that will extend peace and profits between Man's World and Themyscira? No, your mother and I both suspected this: that you have succumbed to the deceits of Men! It is just as we have feared! What I have feared!"

"I have not succumbed to anything, and I have never been defeated by a man!" Diana was indignant her old teacher would even think that. "I am here because-"

"You love this man?" Gorgo's laugh was loud and sharp and derisive, making Diana's teeth clench. "He makes heart tremble, and you long for him when he does not hold you in his arms, whispering in ear of things of love? You confide in him of all your secrets?"

"You do not understand!"

At that last, Gorgo's eyes narrowed and she slowly and deliberately stepped closer to Diana, who twitched but did not step back from the formidable presence. But when she spoke again her voice was not hectoring but calm and gentle, yet unyielding as steel. Every word she now spoke cut Diana to the heart.

"I 'do not understand?' I, who was with your dear mother when Hercules and his Argives came to us, promising friendship and amity? Have you forgotten what happened once his words proved to be lies? The terrible agony we all endured, until we managed to free ourselves? And after, nearly as worse, the knowledge of the shame, and betrayal? And you say I do not 'understand'?"

Diana clenched her firsts and stared down at the floor, not meeting Gorgo's eyes.

"I have not forgotten," Diana said in a low voice. "I will never, never allow myself to forget. But," she finally looked up at Gorgo, and she saw the defiance in her ex-pupil's eyes. "My husband is not Hercules…and this is not the same."

For a long moment the two Amazons faced each other, one in the prime of beauty and youth and strength, the other still strong and proud but aged, her blonde hair faded and streaked with iron strands of gray. Two warriors, neither giving ground.

"By those words," Gorgo said firmly. "You prove to me that you in truth have forgotten…and that you no longer follow the teaching I once gave you."

Diana said nothing.

"Your mother instructed me to give you these words when I found you," she continued, in a different tone of voice, one of royal messenger. "To invite the Princess Diana to return to her home, the Isle of Paradise, if she no longer wishes to serve as emissary."

Out on the porch, Clark froze, hardly daring to make a sound.

"Invites or demands?"

"That is entirely up to your interpretation, my Lady. What is your response to the Queen?" Gorgo was all formality now.

"My response," Diana said. "Tell her my response is, I will stay here in the Man's World, with my family."

For a second Gorgo stood still, emotionless, then she gave a curt bow, and without another word, turned and left the house, without a backward glance. Clark jumped up as she came out the door, but she did not spare him a single glance. As soon as she was gone, Clark rushed inside.

He found Diana sitting on the floor, her back propped up against the oven door. She was staring in front of her, her arms resting on her knees, and her face was like a thundercloud, her eyes hot and watery.

"You heard everything?" she asked dully.

Clark sighed, nodded. "I'm sorry, Diana, I didn't know she was coming. I don't know how she found us."

"They have their ways," she muttered. "It matters not now."

"Who is she?"

"Lady Gorgo was my spear and shield tutor."

"Perhaps if you told her who I really am…?" Clark realized that Diana had not mentioned it once.

"I think it would be worse, if they knew. They would fear you then, instead of just hating you."

"But maybe if I met your mother, and your people, they would change their minds," Clark tried to lighten the mood. "I'm not such a bad guy…I could train myself not to blow my nose on their curtains."

Clark thought Diana almost smiled. Almost. "I was going to go into town today, but maybe I should stay with you instead?"

Diana shook her head. "No, go on and go out, as you planned. I would…prefer to be alone now, anyway."

Clark knew her moods. He nodded and went out, silently resolving to himself to apply his mind to the task of reconciliation, somehow. Surely there had to be a solution to this.

Diana watched him go. She knew what he was thinking, but he simply did not understand, and could not understand how impossible that was. There was too much he did not know. She felt she couldn't burden him with any more worry, not when he was facing the real possibility of losing his family's landholding. The dreams were still troubling him too, and she thought they were getting worse, in frequency.

Diana's hand drifted down to her stomach, resting on her belly. That was why she could not reveal to him what she had known with certainty for several days now. The time of revelation was not yet auspicious. She would wait until these troubles were over. Until then, she would help him as best she could. She only hoped they would not last until the truth would eventually reveal itself in her body.

From a safe vantage point, the Lady Gorgo watched Diana's husband, the one called Clark Kent, as he left the house and re-entered the barn. She wondered why such a man would assume the façade of a poor farmhand. Of course she knew exactly who he was.

She had not arrived here quite ignorant of the circumstances surrounding Diana's absence from Metropolis. When Queen Hippolyta had dispatched her, it was only logical for her to go to the place where she was well-known – the Justice League. She had approached the one dressed as a great bat and demanded to know Diana's whereabouts, ignoring the stares and whispers of the other outlandishly dressed superheroes. The man had listened to her impassively, then without a word of argument had presented her with Diana's new address, complete with GPS coordinates.

It did not take long for her to discover the identity of the one called Superman, who was also absent from the League. It also did not take her long for her to assess the motives for Diana's association with such a powerful creature. She had noticed that the League was largely composed of men, strong men. It did make some sound tactical sense, for Diana to offer favors to this Superman in exchange for protection and alliance. It was the only explanation that made sense. If presented with such circumstances, Gorgo might have even done the same. But then, she would not have found herself in such a situation. She had been one of those strongly opposed to Hippolyta's decision to allow Diana off the island. She had argued that no good would come of it, and now she would have to report back to her – of course, with no joy but with honesty – that her fears were correct. Diana had simply been too young, too naïve for this, and the result was this dreadful servitude, wasting her potential, instead reduced to being the bedmate of a man more powerful than she. Nothing good could come of it!

However, what was done was done. The matter at hand was how to free Diana, to enable her to see the mistake she had made. This 'Clark Kent' could be dealt with, there were many other women of this world – weak and silly things – with whom he could be satisfied with. Gorgo would try to arrange this in a way to spare her former pupil the most pain, but in any case, she had no doubt she would return Diana to Themyscira.

[Longest chapter yet! As if SM/WW did not have enough problems here's some more, in the person of the unhelpful relative Gorgo. The name is from Queen Gorgo, Leonidas' wife in "300" and a real historical person. I imagine Lena Headey, who played her, to look like Queen Hippolyta. Either her or Lucy Lawless! I imagine Helen Mirren as Gorgo, an older woman who can still kick ass - see her in "Red"! Thank you for all your reviews so far, please keep them coming. I know this is slowly developing but the horror is going to grow from here on out, I think. The story might not turn out to be everyone's cup of tea, so think of this as an experimental fic! Just take it as enjoyment :)]


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Clark was relieved to see the Smallville Public Library was still open. He had spent many happy hours here as a child and teenager, reading science fiction novels, then whatever books he could find about astronomy and physics, trying to learn more about himself and his powers. Today, however, he was looking for something else.

Mrs. Oates, the librarian, had been at her job for nearly 30 years - a rarity these days. She smiled warmly as she saw Clark come through the doors, dressed in jeans and a denim jacket with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Why hello, Clark! I'd hardly recognized you, you're so grown up! Welcome back!"

Clark smiled bashfully. "It's good to see you too, Mrs. Oates," he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, an old habit. "I have a favor to ask you."

"What can I do for you?"

"I need to do some research on the history of Smallville. Do you have copies of the old newspaper archived here?"

"_The Smallville Courier_? I reckon we do, though they'd be in storage. No one's asked to see them in years. Do you know how to use a microfiche reader, young man?"

He grinned. "It's been a while but I think I can manage."

It was a few minutes before Mrs. Oates returned with a large cardboard box and led him to the old microfiche reader in the back of the library. There was a thick layer of dust on the top, which she wiped off as Clark sat before the ancient machine.

"I told you no one's looked at these things in years! I suppose they'll put everything online eventually. But I don't think anyone would even bother with old small town news."

"You might be surprised."

After she had returned to her desk, Clark opened the box and rummaged through the cartons inside. Each one was labeled "Smallville Courier" with a beginning and ending date. After some sorting, he saw that the earliest dated from 1911, presumably the founding of the newspaper, or the earliest copy archived, to the year of the paper's closing, 2001. Some years and months were completely missing, however.

Clark took out a notepad and pencil, and paused in thought. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for. It occurred to him that he wasn't even sure the Red House had always been called the Red House. Well, being a professional journalist had taught him to be thorough at least. He would start at the beginning.

He went through several cartons, carefully scouring every issue for local news, town gossip crime reports, that sort of thing. He recalled what Will had said about people relocating here back in the 1920s, and kept an eye out for those dates. Fortunately the _Courier_ was not a big paper, and most of the news consisted of trivial events like fairs, local sporting events, school graduations, the rare crime, or major national news beyond Smallville.

He came across a short caption from the year 1924:

_Local boy Phineas Potter, Smallville High School's valedictorian, wins scholarship! __Outstanding young student will travel to the East Coast to attend one of our nation's top universities. We wish the young man well!_

Insert was a black-and-white photograph of a young man in spectacles, looking a little like Lana, and a little like Clark himself. Clark knew that was her uncle, old Dr. Potter. He had met him a few times when he was a boy. He was almost the stereotype of the absent-minded professor. Of all of Smallville's residents, he was one person Clark was nearly sure had guessed his true identity, but he hadn't seen him again after he graduated high school.

The same year he began to find something that could be associated with what he was searching for. An editorial stated:

_Smallville Courier, June 23, 1924_

_By Harold Winkley._

"_Smallville Experiences Housing Boom"_

_Smallville is experiencing an unprecedented building boom as it welcomes new residents! Houses are going up every week as America is discovering that Smallville is a great place to live and raise God-fearing families. Smallville is a welcome alternative from the crowds of the big city, where many of our new residents originally hail from. One can only wonder if Smallville will have to change its name to "Bigville" if this population growth continues!_

Obviously, this Winkley's speculation was way off, Clark thought. He wouldn't have been the first. But this must have been the origin for Smallville's oldest big homes. That was it for 1924, and he moved on to the next year. He began looking for any material related to real estate.

_Smallville Courier, January 14, 1925_

"_Landmark House to be Built in Smallville"_

_By Harold Winkley._

_An extraordinary house is under construction in the Ashley district south of Smallville. It is the first house in Smallville designed by famed architect M. Preetorius, a disciple of the surrealist artist C.A. Smith. The exterior will be painted entirely bright red, and will be a notable landmark in Smallville upon completion._

There was a very poor quality photograph attached but he recognized the Red House instantly: the high walls, the tall clock-tower. It was clearly the same house, even if half-completed. He scribbled on his pad, and continued on. Then, eight months later, an article that stood out from the pieces:

_Smallville Courier, August 11, 1925_

"_Unholy Cult in Smallville?"_

_By Harold Winkley._

_Local residents are concerned that the new occupants of the so-called "Red House," a mansion in Smallville distinguished for its bright red color, are members of a heterodox religious cult. The Church of Starry Wisdom, as it is called, denies that they are a 'cult' and claim that they are a mainstream religious denomination, with branches throughout the world. The church's resident minister, the Reverend Zealia Bishop, stated to this reporter: "Our Church's roots grow from the same ones as our American Republic. Our especial interpretation of Theosophy is about enabling every individual to follow their bliss through realization of the true reality of the universe."_

_However, this reporter has interviewed several nearby residents, who fear that this "bliss" poses a danger to their families. _

"_I live not five miles from this so-called church," said local farmer John Whitaker. "And what I hear coming from there, don't sound like no Christian worship." Another resident, who refuses to be named, also claimed to have heard eerie sounds coming from the direction of the Red House. "What kind of a church doesn't allow a body to come and visit on a Sunday? They ain't even open on Sundays! I don't think it should be allowed here in Smallville!"_

_In response to these allegations, the Rev. Bishop claimed they use musical instruments of Middle Eastern origin in their worship, and that they conduct their services at admittedly unusual hours, "In order to be in harmony with the alignments of the stars at certain times." _

_This reporter should add that he has not personally attended any service at the Church of Starry Wisdom._

There was a single photo accompanying the story. Five white men standing in front of the Red House, dressed in dark suits, with long, unsmiling Puritan faces. A single woman, who must be Reverend Bishop, stood in the middle. She was the only one smiling but the rest of her face was hidden by a cloche hat.

Clark leaned back in his chair, tapping his pencil against his chin. The Red House had been a church? Maybe an unorthodox one, but he was aware Smallville was in the heart of the Midwest, a very conservative region. His parents had been devoutly religious, in their own way, although they were never pushy, but their faith informed their moral values, which were his, too. He still had his mother's Bible, in its place on the mantelpiece. However, this was decades ago, when being different was a very real stigma. There must be more to the story, he thought.

However, he found nothing else until mid-1926, when brief news items of unusual occurrences started popping up in the paper: reports of mutilated cows and small animals throughout Smallville's farms; farmers were worried and puzzled. There were reports of strange lights in the sky above Smallville, but they were explained away as balloons by local experts. A few random incidents – fistfights and the like - between local residents and the Starry Wisdom church members, none of whom seemed to be originally from Smallville. From what Clark could deduce, the size of the cult, or church, never amounted to more than twenty members, at most. Nothing else about the Red House itself, other than it was the headquarters of this church, but there was never a church bulletin printed in the paper, as the other Smallville churches provided in the Sunday editions.

Then, beginning in the year 1927, reports of missing persons began appearing. Clark noted them all down in his pad:

February 22, 1927: Diana Whitelaw, 14, missing after leaving school.

Three months later: Mark White, 17, missing after leaving home to go fishing. Might have hopped a train and ran away.

10 months later: Joyce Johnson, 15, missing. No other facts.

Clark was well aware that all towns, no matter how small, had their share of murders and missing people, but for a place like Smallville, three young people missing within a year was extraordinary. It was frustrating he couldn't find anything more in this paper about it. None of the bodies were found, nothing was written about the grieving parents.

_Smallvlle Courier, January 5, 1928_

_By Harold Winkley._

_Body of 'Hobo' Found in Smallville_

_A male body was found in Carpenter's field last Tuesday by local farmer. No identification was found on the body, and it is unlikely any identification will be made for now. The body was found in an advanced state of decomposition. The person may be a transient..._

Clark knew what that meant. Since the body was known to be male, and no other 'identification' could be made, that meant that something was missing from the corpse, most likely a head. Another body was found a few months later "in a similar state", but like the poor hobo, very little was reported other than these barest facts. Dammit Winkley, Clark thought, if you were working for me, I'd fire you!

Then, one year before the Wall Street Crash, he found the last mention of the Church of Starry Wisdom in the _Smallville Courier_.

_Smallvlle Courier, October 28, 1928_

_By Harold Winkley_

_Church of Starry Wisdom to Shut Its Doors Permanently in Smallville_

_The religious group known locally as the Church of Starry Wisdom, a self-proclaimed independent branch of theosophy spiritualism, is closing its doors in Smallville. The church, or cult – as local residents would put it – never grew much beyond its original core members of out-of-towners. The minister, Rev. Bishop, could not be reached for comment, but this reporter talked to one of its members, who stated that they are relocating to more hospitable climes on the West Coast. The fate of the church building, known locally as the Red House, is uncertain, but it is speculated it is up for sale. However its true ownership is uncertain. Local residents have long complained of "odd noises" coming from the church, and some farmers have even alleged that its members were responsible for a string of animal mutilations and deaths, although no charges were ever brought. The members state that this is only discrimination against their freethinking denomination, although this reporter cannot find any other branch of this church currently active in any other city in the United States. Other practicing theosophists this reporter has talked to, firmly state that the Church of Starry Wisdom has no legitimate connection to the tradition of Theosophy, but most refuse to say anything else on record on the practices and beliefs of this peculiar religion._

I wonder what they said off the record, thought Clark. But it seemed like he wouldn't know that either, since in 1929 came the obituary for Harold Winkley, of "a sudden heart attack." He had been found in his house, where he lived alone, apparently without any family members. The neighbors had discovered the body, but refused to say anything else about the matter.

Clark searched through the following boxes of microfiche, but was unable to find any other further references to the Red House. The news in the years of the Great Depression were mostly focused on the terrible circumstances of those years, which killed the building and population boom, then for World War II it was almost all war news and of stories of local boys heading off to Europe or the Pacific.

Clark tossed his pencil down, irritated. He was sure there was more to the story…but why? He couldn't even explain why he thought so. It was something buried deep in his subconscious, which might explain the dreams he couldn't remember once he awoke. He knew his wife was growing more concerned for him, and if nothing else, he didn't want her to be worried about him. She had worries enough.

The years passed via microfilm. He could see Smallville changing with the times, yet still remaining the rural small town it had always been. The 1960s and 1970s passed without any reference to the Red House. He was coming to the end of the cartons of microfiche, and his patience, when something made him bolt up in his chair, and his eyes widen.

A photograph, again black-and-white, of the Red House, taken at night. Police cars parked almost in the same spot where he and Diana had a few days ago.

The caption read:

_Child Missing and Presumed Lost within Vicinity of the Red House, Ashley District. __Smallville Police Search Grounds, Find Nothing._

Clark adjusted his glasses, increased the magnification as much as he could on the machine. He noted the faces of the police officers whose faces were turned to the camera. They looked like the victims of war or accident trauma he had seen, either hard and set, or dazed and shocked. The photographer had captured a small crowd of civilians standing just off to the left. They didn't look so much like a search party of volunteers for a missing kid than a vigilante party, as many of them were holding shotguns. That was odd, for a search for a missing child. Clark scanned the faces, then froze, almost stopped breathing. There, almost at the very edge of the photo. A familiar face.

His father. Jonathan Kent. He was in the photo.

There was no date on the photograph, and the story was not attached to particular piece. He raced through the cartons, but discovered that the microfiche with the relevant story was one of those missing. He felt like putting his fist through the machine in his frustration. He returned to the photo. His father's face: aged, grim, and unsmiling, but unmistakably him. Like the other men (they were all men in the photo), he held a shotgun. He couldn't remember his father ever even owning a firearm. He examined the faces of the other men in the photo. One looked like Old Man Johnson, but he couldn't be sure. The others he didn't recognize. They all had the same hard, set look. Like faces of men going off to war, not to comb the woods for a missing child. He checked the date at the top of the microfiche. He might have been five years old when this photo was taken.

"Clark?"

He nearly jumped from his chair, but it was only Mrs. Oates. "Oh, I'm sorry Clark, I didn't mean to scare you, but we're about to close in 15 minutes."

Closing time already? He looked at his watch and realized it was nearly 5pm. He had been here for hours. He looked around. They were the only people still in the building.

"Did you get what you need?"

He nodded, quickly stuffing his notes into his backpack. "Yes, I think I did Mrs. Oates. I hadn't realized there was so much material. I guess small towns really do have a lot of history, don't they?"

He looked up, but Mrs. Oates wasn't smiling. She looked down at him solemnly.

"Small towns do have secrets, Clark. Some of them aren't meant to see the light."

She picked up the box and took it back to the dark storage room. Clark watched her leave and then he hurried to his car.

* * *

It was nearly nighttime by the time Clark returned to his house. When he entered the lights were off downstairs, and it was dark and quiet.

"Diana?" he called out. "Diana?" There was no response.

His heart began to quicken. Surely, she would not have…?

He then heard a noise from upstairs, and it startled him, more than it should have perhaps. He was still thinking about the notes he took at the library. He slowly ascended the stairs, tensing, expecting anything to happen.

There was a light underneath the bathroom door, and his nostrils picked up the scents of jasmine and orange. He relaxed, exhaling slowly. Carefully he pushed the door open. "Diana?"

The upstairs bathroom was according to her tastes, and although he missed his mother's touches, he had to admit that he liked it. She had refurnished it in white, with little pots of herbs and flowers, and small statues in a semi-Greek style. The air was warm and humid, and then he saw her lying in the full bath, her eyes closed. She didn't stir as he walked in. Clark knelt beside the bath; he gently stroked her damp hair from her forehead. He felt a tinge of guilt that he even thought for a moment Diana would go home without a word to him. Perhaps she really believed this was her home now.

Diana stirred and her eyes opened to slits. She stretched in the water and yawned. Already Clark felt a hot stirring inside him.

"Mmmm…" she murmured. "Clark. What causes you to awaken me from blissful rest? You have been gone all day. I hope you have a good excuse for your long absence," she rolled over in the water and her sultry eyes fixed on his. "Do you?"

"Pardons, my lady," Clark said in as a level voice as he could manage. "I was busy shoveling manure. Tons of it. It took me all day." He hoped he could keep a straight face long enough.

Diana stifled a grin, and grasped his large hand, brought it down to her breasts and held it there, feeling his fingers spread and caress her, she moved into it, with it. "And now you are finished, you dare touch me with these filthy hands?" she husked. "I should have you whipped, _peasant_."

A muscle twitched along Clark's jaw, and he tried to focus. He wasn't going to let Diana beat him again at this! He could play this game too. His hand slipped from her breasts and moved between her legs; he saw Diana clench her jaw to stifle her trembling. "I'm afraid since there is no one else here, you will have to do it yourself, _mistress_."

"Oh, I shall, you are already assured of it, but first...I will clean you up!"

With a burst of speed she hooked Clark underneath the arms and pulled him into the bath with her. He tumbled in with a splash. He sputtered, hearing her triumphant laughter as he floundered on top of her. "Diana!"

"There, you are washed!" She grasped his head and ran both hands through his now-wet hair. "You are now most presentable to me. You may now commence with your primary duty."

Clark knelt in the bath and wiped his eyes. "And just what would that be, madam?" He suddenly coughed as Diana's hand gripped between his legs.

"If you do not know by now, 'Man of Steel,'" Diana mock-growled. "You do not need these."

Clark grimaced. He was not going to let her get away with this! Brusquely he stood up, plucking Diana dripping wet out of the bath. Scowling, she struggled and pushed at him, but he held her tightly against him. "What are you doing?"

Carrying Diana in his arms, he stepped out of the bath, and headed for their bedroom, all thoughts of the day's earlier events forgotten. "If you do not know that by now, Amazon," he said firmly. "I will have to teach you - again."

* * *

_He felt strong hands grabbing him, picking him up, dragging him. He was shaking all over. He wanted to cry out, but the sound wouldn't come out of him. He didn't know where he was. He was so frightened. He was in a darkness of fear and it was paralyzing him. He realized he couldn't see because he was squeezing his eyes shut so tightly._

_Mommy!_

_Suddenly the darkness was gone, and the light appeared. He opened his eyes. Not the light of the sun, but the artificial light of home. He was on his porch. Then his ma was there, holding him, clutching him as if she would never let him go again. He realized she was crying with relief._

_"Clark! Oh thank the blessed Lord, Clark, you're safe!"_

_He threw his small arms around her neck, and they held each other as if they would never let go. He could touch her, smell her, all these safe things reassured him. Nothing would harm him now he was home with his parents._

_Pa? Where are you?_

_Suddenly, his daddy came into view. He was on the porch with some other men, men he didn't know. His daddy's back was to him. He cried out to him. Then his pa turned around and he flinched._

_His daddy's face was dark and angry. Clark stopped crying, stared in shock. Then his pa grabbed him by his shirt, yanked him away from mommy and shook him hard, his angry face in his._

_"Promise me Clark! Promise me you will never do such a thing again!"_

_His mother's voice. "Jonathan! Stop it! He's been frightened enough!"_

_Jonathan Kent looked at his wife, and for a moment Clark saw fear on his father's face. Pure and total fear. He had never seen his father look like this before, had never heard his father scream like this at him before, ever._

_"He's not frightened enough! Promise! Promise you will never, ever go back to the Red House again! Never go back to that damned place! Stay away from there! It's dangerous, so stay away!"_

Clark Kent bolted upright in bed, his eyes wide, breathing hard. It took him a second to realize he was not a child anymore, but an adult. The dream had come, and he remembered it this time, or part of it anyway. The Red House. Now he had heard its name in his dream. His father had been there. He had been there. But he didn't remember. Why couldn't he remember?

He ran his hands through his hair. This was getting ridiculous. He had wasted a whole day at the library, and now his night was affected. Diana. He turned around, half-expecting her to be awakened by his movements, but she was still asleep, curled up on her side, the thin cotton sheet barely covering her body.

Clark watched her silently for a minute. She was so beautiful, and she looked so vulnerable lying there beside him, although he had no doubt she could take on an army of foes even naked and unarmed as she was. He wished she could have met his parents. He could still hardly believe she would be with him. It was a miracle she even was. After all they'd been through, and now, what she was willingly enduring to be here with him. At that very moment he felt he didn't deserve her.

He looked at the window of their bedroom, which had been left open to let in the coolness of the night. It was very nearly dawn. He considered a moment, then got out of bed.

A minute later, he was at the window, in his Kryptonian armor. He looked back at Diana, but decided he wouldn't wake her. He'd let her get her sleep. He could be at the Red House and back before she awoke. He told himself he only wanted to see if there was really a story there. Perhaps it was only old stories from the past, and the Red House was only a disused old building, dangerous only because it was in disrepair.. But perhaps, something there might trigger his memory, if he got inside. If he had really been there, it could come back to him. If not, well, he would just make up for the work he had missed yesterday.

Clark turned back to the window. It would be very quick. No more than half an hour there, or less, to look around and return. That would be it.

_40 minutes later_

Diana awoke to the sounds of birds chirping. It was a pleasant sound. Her eyes blinked, and she stretched luxuriously. She always felt relaxed after a good workout session, and what happened last night certainly counted for one. Her arm stretched out, hoping to touch an arm, or face.

"Clark?"

Her husband's side of the bed was empty. Disappointed, Diana sat up, sighed. She'd hoped to see him before he started working again. She got up and dressed, thinking she might call Lana that day.

Diana walked over to the open window, which looked out onto the yard and driveway. Their car was still there, so he hadn't gone into town. She couldn't see him, so perhaps he was already working in the barn. She went downstairs, into the kitchen. She could tell no one had been in it since last night, which meant Clark hadn't had any breakfast. Did he go straight to work without it? That was unusual.

The first stirrings of unease arose in her. Ancient warrior senses, finely tuned, even after weeks of not wielding a sword, even in practice.

Diana went outside, breathing in deeply of the cool morning air. The horizon was lit by the pre-dawn. She could see the barn, but it was dark and she heard no movement within. She walked to the barn, looked around, but Clark was not there, and had not been in there this morning either.

She came back outside, puzzled. The unease was growing within her.

A speck on the sky, coming in fast. Diana saw it, and immediately knew it for her husband. Why had he decided to fly this morning? Where had he gone?

As the form grew more distinct, larger, she saw him swerve erratically, left to right and up and down like a bee dazed by smoke. There was something wrong, if he wasn't flying straight, what the-?

As Diana watched, stunned, Clark suddenly turned directly into the barn and hit the roof, splinters of wood flying from the impact, his body skidding along its slanted beams; he didn't correct himself but tumbled down along its slant and fell, motionless, face first on the ground. He didn't move.

"Clark? Clark!" Diana shouted, and ran to him as fast as she could "_Kal_!"

[Some clues about the nature of the Red House in this chapter! It doesn't give away the total story, as the exact nature will still be a mystery. Thanks for all the reviews so far, please keep them coming!]


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Clark!"

Diana ran to Clark Kent's still body and dropped to her knees beside him.

Her heart pounding, she grasped his broad shoulders and rolled him over onto his back, dreading the worst. His eyes were closed but –thank the gods! - he was still alive, only unconscious. Quickly, she ran practiced hands over his body, searching for wounds or broken bones (if that could be possible), but his suit was intact and she could detect no physical injury.

She gazed over her shoulder at the sky, her features set in battle-frenzy, fully expecting that whoever or whatever had attacked her husband would be coming in pursuit; she was prepared to defend him to the death with all her strength, no matter who or what the foe was, or how many. But there was nothing in the sky, except the emergent dawn, a flock of birds, clouds. Nothing was pursuing him, or, if it had been, it had long broken off chase before she saw him fall out of the sky.

Nonetheless, she had to bring him inside - she couldn't tend to him out here in the open. She half-carried half-dragged Clark into the farmhouse, laying him gently onto the carpeted floor of their living room. To her relief, he was already beginning to recover consciousness. His body started trembling all over, his handsome face contorting in distress.

"No…no…" he gasped between clenched teeth, his voice barely audible.

"Clark! My husband…you're here, in our home, you are safe," Diana continued to kneel beside him, clasping his face in her hands, kissing his forehead, his bearded cheeks. He had to be reassured he was no longer under attack…but what could have attacked him? She couldn't imagine what could have put him in this condition, out here in Smallville of all places. "I'm here, you are safe home with me."

Clark was still shaking all over, as if he were an ordinary Earthman with the chills. His eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes hesitantly, as if fearful of what he might see. "D-D-Diana? Wha…where?"

"You're in our home," Diana bent over him so he could see her clearly. "I am here with you."

Clark's tremors gradually ceased after a few minutes, and his hitching breath returned to normal, while Diana fetched a damp cloth and wiped his forehead with it. He closed his eyes, and was completely still for a moment, recovering himself. He groaned, the hated sound Diana had become familiar with: the sound he made when he awoke from his bad dreams.

"Uhhhgh…what happened?" he finally said, pushing himself up to a sitting position, running a hand through his dark hair.

Diana stared at him. "You do not remember?"

"No," he grumbled, rubbing his face. "I feel like…like I've just had the worst hangover ever."

"You cannot have 'hangovers,'" she gently touched his shoulder. "Clark, where did you go?"

"Eh?" he looked confused, then glanced down at himself. "Oh…I-I don't know…and obviously you don't know either," Clark grunted. "Maybe I was sleepwalking."

Apprehension pooled in the pit of Diana's stomach. Sleepwalking? "In your armor? I awoke this morning and you were not beside me. I looked for you. I saw you fly in from the south, but you flew as if blind. You hit the barn roof, and fell to the ground. I brought you back in just now."

"I did that?" Clark stared at her incredulously, then cursed under his breath. "Now I suppose I'll have to fix the roof too!" He stared out at the open door. "It's already past morning! I've gotta get back on the tractor, otherwise it's never going to get running."

He started to get up but Diana held him back. "Clark! The machine can wait. Why is it that you are unable to remember where you were last night? Did the dreaming compel you to go against your will? What were you fleeing from?"

"I wasn't 'fleeing' from anything, I just had another bad dream. This time I guess I decided to go outside to do it."

"You have never done such a thing before," Diana insisted. "There is something wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine. Stop worrying."

"Clark-"

"Diana, just stop fussing at me and let me go!"

The Amazon warrior released his arm and sat back on her heels. She looked at him, saying nothing else.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to snap at you," Clark finally muttered after the uncomfortable silence. "Look…I know this is troubling you, I know. But nothing happened - you can see that I'm fine, " he spread his arms wide for her, as if seeing the 'S' intact on his chest would reassure her. "So please don't worry. But I really need to get back to work…the farm isn't going to wait just because I'm having a few bad dreams."

"All right, Clark," Diana replied softly. "I'll take the car today and run the errands."

"Thanks," Clark added halfheartedly. "I'll…we'll talk later, ok?"

She didn't say anything, so he carefully kissed her on the cheek, and then he went upstairs to change into his work clothes. She watched him go, deep in thought.

* * *

Lana suggested that they meet at the coffee shop (easy to find as it was the only one in Smallville) before noon. She had the day off, and was more than pleased to hang out with Diana and have a 'heart-to-heart,' as she thought of it. She was glad that Clark's wife seemed to truly think of her as a friend (rather than as a potential threat, the way some wives viewed old female friends of their spouses, and Diana didn't look like the kind of person she'd want to get on the wrong side of), and also couldn't help but feel flattered that a sophisticated European woman (as she assumed Diana was) would take a small-town girl like her (as she modestly thought of herself) into her confidence. She considered one day asking Diana to speak to her class about her home country.

Diana arrived before Lana, ordered two large lattes and decided on a spot outside. She didn't have to wait long; she saw the plump woman arriving and waved. Lana also liked Diana's style of greeting, kissing her on both cheeks (actually Diana had adopted this as part of her 'civilian' disguise).

"It's so good to see you again!" Lana said brightly. Her positive mood was so effusive Diana couldn't help but partake of it, the strange events of the morning being pushed back in her mind…but not quite forgotten.

"You too, Lana," Diana for her part felt that Lana was her only real friend in Smallville. She had met some of the older ladies in town, friends of Clark's parents, and they seemed friendly enough, but often their invitations to socialize also included activities at their local place of worship, of which Diana was _certainly_ welcome to join, and oh by the way was she 'saved'? "How are you?"

"Oh, so-so. This has been my only day off for weeks, but hey, it's a paycheck. Will's been working every day too, you'd think we'd get a break once in a while, but noooo. How are you and Clark doing?"

Diana pursed her lips. "We're…good. Clark he has, what you say, much stress now."

Lana nodded sympathetically, sipping her latte. "I bet he does, taking over the farm like that. I admire him so much for doing that. I think anyone else would just call it quits and sell up."

"You think he is doing the right thing?"

Lana looked quizzically at Diana. "Don't you?"

Diana weighed the question. "I will support Clark whatever he may do," she looked intently at Lana. "I only wish to be sure it is the right thing."

Lana considered. "I don't know if we can ever really know that, I mean, in the long run. I think it is, anyway. But even if it doesn't work out – the farming, I mean – you're still together. For better or worse, right?"

Diana nodded. "Just like you and Will. You have been married much longer than we have."

"Well, we haven't quite reached our Silver Anniversary yet!" Lana joked, but Diana thought she caught a tone that meant she wasn't quite sure that they would. "But I hope we will of course. You just have to take things one day at a time. Everything could change tomorrow."

"I think it already has," Diana said before she could catch herself, but Lana took notice.

"What do you mean? I mean, is everything all right?"

Diana hesitated a moment. She could hardly go home to Themyscira now, or up to the Watchtower to blurt out the news, even as supportive as many of them would be (she didn't include Batman in that group). But she wanted, no, _needed_, to tell someone, to confide in another woman.

"Remember at the party, you asked me about when Clark and I were…about a family…?"

"Yes?" Lana said, then in second she got it - she was no slouch Her eyes widened. "No! You mean…definitely, positively sure?"

Diana couldn't bring herself to say it aloud so, but her eyes revealed the confirmation.

"You _are_!" squealed Lana, and threw her arms around a surprised Diana. "Oh, congratulations! Girl, we are gong to have a _great_ shower for you! Now, when you do the registry, remember to…oh," she suddenly noticed Diana's expression. "Wait …you haven't told Clark?"

"Not just yet," Diana said hurriedly, and then everything seemed to come pouring out of her. "He's been so busy, and…there just is not a good time to…I mean, that I have found to tell him. You are the first person I've told. I haven't even had the chance to really think about it."

"Diana, you _do_ want this baby?" Lana leaned forward. "Listen, I'm a teacher: I've met all kinds of parents, and believe me not everyone just automatically 'blossoms' into motherhood. If you don't feel like you want this child-"

Diana looked sharply at her. "I do!"

"Does Clark?"

"That I…I do not know," Diana said slowly. "It sounds strange but…we never talked about the possibility. We did not think it was…possible," she could hardly tell Lana about the _other_ issues that would concern them. "I know he is not expecting this. Lana, you are my friend and you are Clark's friend…what do you think I should do?"

"Diana, tell him, whether you think he will be glad about it or not, right now, that doesn't matter. There is never the 'perfect time' to tell someone news like that. I don't know how much Clark has changed since living in Metropolis, but he's always been a good man. I can't believe he would be mad over this, or not welcome it, but Diana," she emphasized strongly, tapping her on the arm. "You _have_ to tell him. It's just my opinion, but the sooner the better. That also goes for whatever you plan to do with your farm. Keeping secrets from your spouse is never a good thing in a marriage. _Believe_ me." There was a trace of bitterness in her words that spoke of some experience in the matter.

Diana gripped Lana's hand, and she squeezed back. "My thanks. I am so…relieved to be able to speak on this, to another."

"And I won't breathe a word of it! Not until you give to go-ahead! And about the shower…"

For a few minutes more, Lana advised Diana what things like _shower_ and _registry_ meant, and some strategies on how to break certain life-changing news to people without knowing how it would be received, until it was well past noon. Before Lana could leave for her grocery shopping, Diana suddenly had a thought.

"I have another question to ask you, Lana."

"Shoot! I'm the fount of all knowledge in Smallville!"

"Do you know of a place called the Red House?"

"Oh…_that_ place...more like the money pit house!" Lana frowned, raising Diana's curiosity.

"Why is that so?"

"Will kind of bought it, without asking me if we could afford it. It's really owned by the town, sort of, but he decided to lease it anyway, says he wants to renovate it, turn it into some kind of museum or attraction to lure tourists to Smallville. I can't imagine why he would want to, but maybe it's his way of putting his demons to rest."

"I'm sorry…what 'demons?'"

"Oh, I'm sorry, that's like an American turn-of-phrase. Means like putting bad memories to rest, coming to terms with them and moving on."

"Your husband Will has evil memories of this Red House? Why?"

"Yes…don't you know about it? Didn't Clark tell you?"

Diana felt suddenly chilled, despite the day's warm weather. "No. What claim does Clark have on this matter?"

"Hm. That's men for you, always with the secrets! And they say women are bad! Well, when they were kids – this is according to what Will said – he and Clark and two other older boys went to the Red House on a dare. The older kids did a dare, you know, the kind of stupid things kids do. They convinced them they'd heard of 'buried treasure' somewhere in the house, and they were going to search for it. So stupid. Anyway, they all sneaked out one night and went up to the house, but something terrible happened. One of the kids disappeared. Clark really never told you this?"

"No," murmured Diana, staring down at her cup of coffee.

Lana rolled her eyes. "Like I said. There was a huge search, but the other boy never turned up. My parents said at the time it was a huge deal, because a story went 'round that the kid got grabbed by a transient who was squatting in the house, probably a child predator, and there was another idea that truckers coming through town may have grabbed the kid too. If Clark hasn't told you about it," Lana added. "It could just mean he's forgotten all about it. I think he was only five at the time. Will was six, or maybe seven. Will doesn't talk about it much, says he barely remembers it at all. He also thinks the other boy got grabbed as soon as they got inside the house, but he doesn't remember anything else that happened. They all must have had a terrible scare. They were too young to give any information to the police, but the police assumed they must've run before they got grabbed too. I tell you it really breaks my heart to think about somebody doing that to a child. You wouldn't think something like that could happen here, but I guess it could happen anywhere, really."

"They never found the missing child?"

She shook her head. "No, sadly not. The police never found a body, and there were no leads, so it's probably still a 'cold case.'"

"Lana, you said Will and Clark were there, but there was a third child who got away? Where is he now?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I think he and his parents moved away after that. There were rumors that the other boy went totally mute after that and never spoke. But my mother said he was just an autistic child. But why do you ask about the house?"

"Clark and I stopped by there the other day," Diana said guardedly. "Something about it triggered his memory."

"Oh dear. I hope it's not a case of 'suppressed memory.' Sometimes it is like PTSD with veterans. A smell or a sound can trigger it. Some of my kids have parents with it. Do you think it would help if he and Will talked about it together?"

"No," Diana said quickly. Suddenly the last thing she wanted was for Will to be involved in this. "Actually, I would prefer if you didn't say anything just yet. It might just be that he was curious."

"Whatever you say, Diana! You take care, and call me if you need me, anytime."

"Thank you Lana, I will do that." The two women hugged, and left on their separate errands, neither of them noticing the car that had been parked across the street, all morning.

* * *

"I prepared the meal myself."

"Everything smells wonderful, Diana."

Diana had placed on their dining room table plates of lightly spiced lamb, chicken cubes marinated in yoghurt, a basket of freshly baked bread, and bowls of large Greek olives.

Clark sat down at the table and eyed her warily. Every time that his mother Martha had cooked up a special meal for his dad, it was usually followed up an oh-by-the-way request for him to 'build' something, or to mention that an appliance, often one of the more expensive ones, needed replacing. Clark had once asked his dad why didn't mom just ask straight out for a new spice rack. Jonathan Kent had only laughed and said, "One day you'll understand, son!" Clark supposed that could be true, but somehow he didn't think Diana was going to ask for a new Frigidaire.

However, he was feeling peckish. Clark took a piece of bread and tore it in half, using it to soak up the juice from the meat. Diana sat down opposite him, but she barely touched her food. He tried to make conversation.

"Did you go see Lana today?"

She nodded. "I did."

"I'm glad the two of you are getting along so well, everyone at school liked her," Clark chewed another mouthful of food, falling into reminiscing. Diana was unusually quiet this evening. In fact she looked rather pensive, as if she was carefully considering her next action. He remembered how he had snapped at her and winced inwardly; it wasn't that he and Diana had never spoken sharply with one another, but the rare times it had happened, it was related to a mission. This had been a completely different context.

"Diana, this morning…I didn't mean to bite your head off. The bad dreams I've been having, they'll end soon, I promise. Once we're really settled here."

However, it seemed like Diana had hardly heard him, and she wasn't looking at him either, focusing on almost anything else. Clark was afraid that she was going to tell him that she had decided to return to Themyscira after all. "If there is anything else I could do, I would-"

Diana spoke, quite quietly. "My husband…have I given you offense?"

Clark nearly choked on his food at the question. "No, no of course not! How can you even think that?"

"Then why are you not truthful with me?"

He stared at her, uncomprehending. Where had this come from? "What do you mean?"

"The Red House," Diana finally looked at him. "Lana told me about it today."

Lana did what? "Diana, I don't understand. What did she say?"

Diana said nothing at first. Then, in one graceful move, she slipped out of her chair and then was on her knees by his side. She picked up his hand, bent her raven-dark head to it and kissed it.

Clark was shocked. He had never, ever seen her do this before. "Diana! What are you-?"

Diana fixed her eyes on his. "Many years ago, four children went to the Red House: only three came back."

"What are you talking about?"

"One of those children was you, one was Lana's husband."

Clark blinked. He furrowed his brow, then shook his head as if trying to shake something out of it. "Diana, I don't know what Lana's on about, but if something like that happened to me, I think I would have known about it."

"You swear this to me? On your _honor_? That it has not been the subject of your dreams? That perhaps that was where you went this morning?"

_Never, ever go back to the Red House!_

Clark tossed down his fork. "Jeez Louise, Diana, is that what this is all about? I'm telling you _again_ that I don't know anything! Whatever story Lana's trying to…"

"Husband…I am carrying your child."

Clark froze in complete astonishment, his mouth open. Seconds passed before he could think to close it. "Diana?" he whispered, barely trusting his voice. "You…you're sure?"

"Of course I am. An Amazon knows her body better than any other woman in this world knows hers. I have known with certainty for the past five days."

He exhaled sharply, nearly whooping for joy. "Diana! Oh my God, that-that, I can't believe it!"

He made to leap out of his chair, but Diana tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him down so that he was also kneeling in front of her. She placed both her hands on his neck, compelling him to look her in the face at eye-level. He was so overwhelmed he didn't resist.

"There. Now I have told you _my_ truth. I was going to keep it from you, for many months longer until secret could no longer be kept, until you had resolved your farm's debts and settled accounts. But Lana convinced me to speak truth without delay, that it would be no better than a lie to keep knowledge of your child from you. I am indebted to her for her wisdom."

"Diana," Clark protested, incredulous. "I _love_ you. You _know_ I do. My God, you're pregnant! I would do anything for you. How could you think I am lying to you over…over some weird dreams?"

She didn't relax her hold. "Then," she said determinedly. "You cannot speak truth by your own free will. Your mind, or perhaps some other power, is preventing you from speaking the truth to me, and to yourself."

Clark shook his head angrily. "How can I prove to you that I'm not lying? I don't even know what you think it is I am concealing from you."

_He still doesn't see it,_ Diana felt pained, but gently suggested. "There is a way if you will permit it: the Lasso of Truth."

"What? You want to interrogate me with it? Diana, we're not to use these-"

"No, not to interrogate. But, if proper questions are asked, it may help to bring to light whatever it may be that you…you might have forgotten. I would not use it to hurt you, father of my child. I only want to help you, as partner should help partner. If it only might bring the dreams to desist, how can it injure?"

Clark reached out and embraced Diana, who squeezed him hard. He was still in shock over her announcement, and his mind was buzzing with all the implications, but amongst all those what stood foremost was simply the basic realization - he was to be a father. What he thought was surely an impossibility had happened. Diana, the Amazon Princess, his wife, would be the mother of his child. He could feel her in his arms, so strong and yet - he realized - incredibly vulnerable too. This thing she had fixated on, perhaps if it would mollify her, her mind would be at ease. They could re-focus...he would have to redo one of the rooms as a nursery...once all this was over and done with.

"All right," he murmured into her neck. "Let's do it."

Diana took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, which he returned. "But first," she said firmly, when she released him. "Finish your dinner."

[Short chapter update this time! I was originally going to have Diana reveal to Clark much later in the story, but looking over the outline I thought it would fit in with the story better if it is done here. Thanks for reading, and as always, please keep reviewing! Next chapter should be up in a few days. Horror to come].


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Dinner didn't last very much longer – delicious as it was, Clark felt he'd lost most of his appetite. He was still trying to process the unexpected news in his mind, and all his accompanying multitude of feelings. The chief emotion undoubtedly was joy, but included with the happiness was a pressing series of questions, overwhelming questions, not the least of which was how his alien DNA and Diana's would mix - what would the child be like? Even if he put all the scientific and medical issues aside, there were other equally important matters to consider, such as how they would raise the child. Ideally, they could raise the child right here in Smallville, just as he had been raised. There was also the issue of the Justice League and their reaction. He could almost see Bruce's scowling face in front of him, telling him to keep the knowledge of the child a secret, lest it become a target for all the League's enemies. That was something to consider, too. More likely he would complain of the absences it would cause!

All these thoughts and more raced through his mind while he and Diana entered the upstairs bedroom together. Clark would much rather have spent the night discussing their new family addition, but Diana was adamant that they go through this - she suggested using their bedroom as it represented the most comforting place in their house. Clark watched as she retrieved from underneath the bed a long, rectangular box. Unclasping the lid, she could see her corselet tucked neatly away inside. Resting on top was her _xiphos_ sword, securely sheathed in its oiled leather scabbard, and next to it the Lasso of Truth. She removed the lasso and set aside the box.

Seeing the golden coil made Clark uneasy, but he had promised Diana he would go through with this. "How is this going to work? I know that whoever touches it is made to tell the truth, but I don't understand how this will make me remember anything."

Diana looked over her shoulder at him as she dimmed the lights in the room. "Only relax into it, and don't try to fight it. I will ask questions carefully," From a small container she sprinkled a pinch of incense into a small burner and lit it. Soon, the room was filled with a pleasant, but not overpowering, aroma of sandalwood. "The scent will help ease you into the truth-trance."

"Like hypnosis?" Clark was skeptical. He was already impatient for this to be over.

"Not exactly…this is not often done," Diana admitted. "I have only seen it done once before, on Themyscira. One of our sisters suffered a terrible head injury while training. The Lasso helped her recover her memories. This will not hurt you," Diana added. "If you do not fight it."

Clark was doubtful this was going to be helpful at all, but he wanted to prove to Diana that he had nothing to hide…so why was he feeling so nervous?

Her preparations done, she instructed Clark to sit on the floor, and she sat beside him. She held up an end of the lasso. "Are you ready?"

He took a deep breath, crossed his legs, and held up his forearm. "Go for it."

She gave him a tender kiss and then looped the lasso around his wrist and hand, and held onto the other end. "Take hold of it gently, do not squeeze it. Let it do the work for you."

Clark had experienced the lasso's power before, while sparring with Diana; he was always impressed by Diana's expert use of it (she could have made a great cowgirl)! It had almost felt like it was alive; it didn't feel like an ordinary rope, as it was extremely pliable, not stiff or rough to the touch. Actually, it felt rather pleasing, almost warm.

"All right?" Diana asked.

Clark nodded, and then he couldn't help but tease her. "Ready for truth or dare!"

"Be serious!" Diana scolded.

"All right, all right," he sighed, and closed his eyes in concentration, straightened up like he was doing a Zen meditation pose.

Diana considered for a moment what to ask first: the attack this morning (that he had been attacked she had no doubt), or his childhood? She decided to start with the very beginning, with what Lana told her.

"Clark?" She kept her voice soft but clear.

"Yes? I'm still here," he said, eyes closed. He was already starting to feel relaxed, actually beginning to enjoy this. "I'm telling the truth – my name is Clark Kent!" Diana ignored his joke.

"Where did you live when you were five years old?"

"Smallville," Clark opened one eye at her. "This is pretty easy."

Diana took a deep breath, plunged in. "Clark, when you were five years old, living in Smallville…did you ever visit the Red House?"

Clark didn't answer right away. Long seconds passed. She carefully watched his face gradually become expressionless, his eyelids twitching; for a moment it worried her, then she stiffened her resolve.

"Yes," Clark finally answered, the words coming on an exhalation of breath. "Yes."

Diana exhaled herself. Lana was telling the truth, then. Diana almost wished she had been making it all up. "Were you alone?"

"No." Clark eyelids were fluttering as if he was falling into REM sleep. The truth-trance was starting to take hold.

"You went to the Red House with others?

"Yes."

"During the daylight? Or after nightfall?"

"Night"

He was giving only one-word answers. Usually when Diana had a criminal ensnared in the lasso, he or she became extremely garrulous, naturally being of weak minds. She sensed that Clark was still resisting it.

"Accept the lasso's working…how many others were with you, when you went to the Red House?"

"Three others."

Lana was right about that too. Clark was suppressing something, something he forgot….or wanted to forget. His head had started to droop onto his chest, as if he were nodding off, as he fell deeper into the pull of the lasso's power.

"What were their names?"

A longer time for the response, as the lasso drew from his memory the requested information. His brows creased.

"Joe Dodds. Billy Wilder. Will Richardson." He spoke the words tonelessly. The lasso was guiding his responses, now. Good.

"Why did you go to the Red House?"

"The…the other boys..." Clark's voice broke off.

"The other children forced you to go with them?"

He shook his head. "No…no that's not it - they didn't want me to go. I wanted to go. I wanted to show them…"

"Show them what?"

_Go home Clark, treasure hunting isn't for little kiddies._

_Go home, runt, mommy's going to be lookin' for you!_

"To show them I'm not a baby!" Clark's voice was suddenly loud and hurt and boyishly angry. "I can help! I can see things they can't!" Clark opened his eyes, looked around, startled. "Diana?"

"Keep concentrating," she urged. "I know this is difficult, but tell me…why did the four of you go to the Red House?"

"They said there was buried treasure in the house, a secret treasure. People left it somewhere in the house, a long time ago." Clark's eyes closed, and he had fallen into the semi-trance again.

"Who told you that?"

"Joe and Billy. They're the big kids, from second grade. Will, he said so too. He said his pa knew all about it and it was true…" his voice drifted off again.

So far, it all matches what Lana said, Diana thought. So, now for the hard part.

"Then, Clark, all four of you went to the Red House? At the same time?"

"Yes."

_It was no problem sneaking out of the house, opening the window and floating down to the ground. He knew ma and pa didn't like him to do that, but night was the best time he could run around and jump as fast and as high as he liked. Pa had told him to be very careful and not to do that when others were around and watching. But this night, he was going on an adventure!_

_Will, his friend from school, had told him about it. "Joe and Billy are going to the Red House tonight," he had told Clark. "They're going to look for the treasure there."_

"_What kind of treasure?"_

"_Don't you know, stupid? The Red House has tons of it, money and stuff, all saved up by the people who used to live there. They hid it."_

"_Why?"_

_Will smacked him on the head, which was his right as the senior playground monitor, or so he said. "Because it's buried treasure dummy! I'm going to look for it too. I'll be rich!"_

"_I want to come!"_

"_No way."_

_But Clark had cajoled and pleaded, and finally Will had agreed he could 'tag along' but that he would have to give him half of all his share of the treasure. Clark agreed. Will told him to meet him at his house, but his family lived miles from the Kents' farm. Clearly, Will didn't think Clark would be able to walk that far, but was he going to be surprised!_

_The other boys had already met up with Will when Clark came running up the road. He knew all about them, they had an awesome reputation because they were always getting in trouble and had no fear of the teachers, not even of being sent to the principal's office. Joe was a big kid, twice Clark's size, with a crewcut. Billy's parents let him wear his hair to shoulders. They both wore baggy clothes that looked too big for them. When Joe and Billy and Will saw him, they looked surprised, then annoyed._

"_Hey, Will, why'd you tell him to come? Man, he's gonna slow us down!"_

_The two older boys taunted Clark but he stood his ground, stubbornly, until finally they grudgingly let him come with them, if only so he wouldn't run back home and tell on them. Clark was thrilled!_

Diana had long suspected Clark was bullied as a child and had been desperate for acceptance. Her own childhood, too, hadn't always been easy, remembering the times when she herself had been teased and called names, sometimes just for being Hippolyta's odd daughter. The loneliness and isolation caused by those experiences, and by their unique circumstances, had helped draw them together to seek comfort and friendship in one another. She resolved that their child would not endure what they had…

_Keep focus, Diana, on the mission!_

"Did all of you arrive at the Red House together?"

"Yes." Clark's voice had dropped lower, in tone.

_It took an hour or so for all of them to finally trek through the woods and up the hill to where the Red House stood. Clark could have gotten there much faster but even then he knew better than to show off his ability. It was fully dark, but the other boys had flashlights._

"_I can see fine," Clark said helpfully, running ahead, but Billy pushed him away._

"_Sure you can, kid. Just shaddup and follow."_

_The Red House stood silently on the hill, in its small clearing. No trees grew close to it, they had been cut down decades ago, and the paved road that once led up to its doors was pitted with rocks, and fallen branches. Its peaked clock-tower rose up to the night sky like a dark monolith. The kids stopped as soon as they saw it clearly silhouetted against the evening sky, and listened carefully to make sure no on else was around, no adults._

_Clark listened too, but he couldn't hear anything. "There's no one here," he said._

"_No shit kid, I said shaddup!"_

"_Where are we going to start looking?" Will asked._

"_Inside, dumbass, where do you think? Come on!"_

_Joe and Billy walked straight up to the house with Will and Clark following close behind. The entrance of the Red House was shuttered by a heavy wooden door faced with brass decorations on its surface. It was splintered, and its hinges were broken, but although it was heavy it proved no problem for them to pull it open. It swung with an unpleasant rusty creaky noise, but they were inside._

"You went inside? All of you?"

"Y-yes."

"What did you see?"

No response. Clark's head was bent now all the way to his chest. She could see that his eyes were still closed, but his face was becoming tense, departing from the calm meditative pose it had held.

"Clark, what did you see?"

He shook his head forcefully, but she tightened the lasso on his arm, and he winced.

"Speak," Diana insisted. "Once all of you entered the house, what happened next?"

Clark's mouth worked, as if he was getting ready to spit out something awful. Diana watched him carefully, noting every reaction.

"I didn't see anything," he whispered. He looked as if might start trembling again, just as he had this morning.

Diana pressed him. "Clark, I know you can see well in the dark. Only describe what you saw at that moment."

_The other kids switched on their flashlights, swung them around. All they could make out in the dark was that they were in what must have been the foyer, then a long hallway, and large reception hall. As they tentatively explored further all their flashlights revealed were bare walls and empty rooms. The floors were wood and stone, the floorboards were curiously warped and uneven. A large curling staircase led to the upper floor, which had many small rooms, perhaps they had been guest rooms or servants' quarters. Looking up they could see several holes in the high ceiling, perhaps caused by hailstorms long ago. Starlight poured through the openings and through the broken windows, providing additional faint light to see by. Rain and wind had effectively damaged much of the interior, the place was nothing but a wreck. There was a smell here, too, a sweetish and nauseating odor. Clark wrinkled his nose. He didn't like it._

_After their initial hesitation, Joe and Billy and Will started laughing and running around the house, waving their flashlights and making ghost noises, throwing rocks and whatever else they could find at what was left of the glass windowpanes, scribbling on the walls, enjoying the excitement of being let loose in a big empty house all to themselves. They ran upstairs and downstairs, tried sliding down the curling bannister of the staircase. At first Clark joined in, feeling that forbidden thrill of doing something "bad." But after a few minutes, his enthusiasm began to curdle – he couldn't keep from thinking how upset ma and pa would be if they found out he was gone. There was also something else that was starting to make him uneasy. He kept thinking he could hear something, but there was no other heartbeat here except for the four of them, no voices other than theirs._

_The boys finally remembered what they'd come here for. "Where do you think this treasure is?" Will asked, looking around._

_Joe and Billy looked at each other stupidly. "I dunno, I guess it's buried here somewhere."_

"_We didn't bring any shovels. How are we supposed to dig for it?"_

_The bigger boys smirked at Will and Clark. "That's why you're here."_

_The boys searched the house more carefully this time. They found a smaller room near the back of the house, less damaged by the elements than the rest of the house, with a recessed back wall. Empty niches lined the walls at regular interviews. The ceiling here was high and oval, chains hanging from it suggested a large chandelier once dangled there. The entranceway to the room, unlike the other rooms of the house, was arched, Moorish-style. _

"_What kinda room is this?" Billy wondered. "Looks like a freakin' church."_

"_This used to be a church, my pa said," Will added. "But nobody in Smallville came here. He said rich Yankees built this, did weird stuff here."_

"_Rich," Joe said. "That means treasure! Look," he pointed at the center of the floor. There was an odd-shaped stone in the middle, flat but elongated out at the sides. For some reason, Clark thought of a toad squatting there, fat and malevolent and stinking, and he shivered._

"_Who would put a rock in the middle of the floor? That's gotta be where it is!"  
_

_All the boys, except for Clark, ran to the rock and began to push it. Clark stood in the arched entranceway, watching them strain ineffectively at it. This was wrong, he didn't know why, but he knew it they shouldn't be messing with it. The rock had to have been placed there for a reason..._

Clark's voice trailed off again. Despite the soft light and the soothing fragrance of the incense, Diana felt cold and clammy. She rubbed her palms on her jeans, still watching Clark closely. His hands, resting on his knees, were clenched into fists now, and his jaw was tightly set. He was fighting the influence of the lasso again.

"Clark?"

"Uuhhhh…" he moaned. Again, Diana tightened the grip on the lasso.

"Clark, can you hear me?"

"Y-y-…yes…" his voice was barely audible.

"Stay with me, husband…did you move the rock?"

_The boys pushed and strained but the rock hardly budged. Clark hesitated, but then remembered how they called him runt and baby and he ran to the rock, hands in front of him, and pushed. The rock fairly flew away from its position, and the boys toppled over, barely avoiding falling into the yawning hole beneath._

"I did."

"And, then…?"

"_What the heck?" Billy scrambled away from the gaping hole in the dirt undernearth the floor that was revealed. The other boys picked themselves up and stared at it. It wasn't very big, maybe 3 or 4 feet wide. It might have been wider, but the wooden floorboards around it concealed the rest of it._

"_You think the treasure's down there?" Will said excitedly._

"_Gotta be!"_

_They shined their flashlights down it, but the beams of light couldn't penetrate the darkness, revealed only swirling motes of dust. "How deep do you think it goes?"_

_One of the boys took a rock and chucked it down the hole. It bounced off the side, and disappeared. They couldn't hear it hit the bottom._

"_I'm not going down there." Will announced._

"_Chickenshit!"_

"_You go down there then!"_

_Joe turned to Clark and grinned. "I got an idea! Let's throw the runt down there!"_

"_No!" Clark was suddenly horrified at what he'd done, staring dully at the hole. He stood petrified as the boys, even Will, bellowed coarse laughter, but he didn't hear that them - he could hear something else, underneath their laughter, it was that something he'd thought he'd heard earlier. It was more distinct, now, something he'd never heard before. Couldn't they hear it too? It was more distinct, and it was closer...he turned and fled._

_Clark was already out through the arched doorway, running for the doorway of the house. He'd regretted now ever sneaking out of the house and coming out here. He'd done something very wrong, very wrong, he knew it._

"_C'mon Clark, we're just kidding!" Will shouted. "Come back you baby!"_

_Clark stopped and turned around, remembering the others. He saw Will, and Billy catching up with him. Joe was still at the entrance, and then behind Joe…_

Diana watched her husband suddenly tremble all over, convulsed by fear, his face going pale. It was horrible to see, she had never seen him like this, except for this morning, and then, she couldn't begin to imagine what enemy could have caused this reaction, surely no one they had fought before. Her husband was a fearless man. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him and hold him until his shuddering stopped, but she had to press on, to help him uncover what this meant.

"Clark, what was it?"

_He turned around. Will, then Billy, coming towards him, demanding to know why he was "wussing" out. He saw this as if it was happening in slow motion. Joe was standing in the arched doorway, yelling at them to come back, that he wanted to try to go down the hole, and they'd better help him. _

_Then…behind Joe, an abysmal darkness blacker than anything Clark had ever seen, which filled the room as if the night had switched itself off to let this other blackness take its place. Joe stood outlined against it, clearly, as if he were a cutout, and then the black became….it BECAME..._

"No," Clark suddenly said firmly. "Enough."

Diana pressed him relentlessly. "Speak."

"I will not!" the fingers of his other hand grabbed at the lasso trying to pull it off his wrist, but she wrapped her hands around his, trapping them against the lasso. She felt it pulsate against her palms.

"Speak!"

"NO!

With a violent, panicky lunge, Clark lashed out blindly, flinging the lasso off him. Diana flew back against the wall of the bedroom, hitting it hard enough to crack the plaster, and collapsed on the floor.

In the next millisecond, Clark was by her side, as she winced in pain. "Diana! Oh Diana, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt? I didn't mean to-"

"I am fine, I have not turned into fragile glass," she looked up at him in incredulity. "You've broken the truth-trance. Without knowing what it is that frightened you. You saw it!"

"There isn't anything else I remember, that's all," Clark said quietly. "About what happened to Joe Dodds, anyway. That was - the last I saw of him."

Diana rubbed her back, sat down next to him. "What is the last thing that is remembered?"

"The police found me, Will, and Bill Wilder by the side of the highway into town. I remember I was holding them by the collars. They were unconscious…I suppose I was in a state of shock too. I don't remember how we left the Red House, but I guess I flew out of there, taking them with me. The police took us to the station, then back home. My dad was pretty angry, as you can imagine. He told me never to go back there again. That was it." he added flatly.

"'That was it?' Clark, Lana told me that this Joe Dodds boy was never found. No one ever searched for him?"

"I remember men – the Sheriff, other people - coming to our house, talking to Dad, to Mom. I don't know what they said. The FBI came too, but he wouldn't allow them to interview me," he looked down at the carpet, as if an explanation could be found in the whorls of the shag. "I think he was frightened they would learn about me somehow and take me away. There were searches, but it all died down eventually. It all became forgotten. I forgot too, over time."

Diana placed a hand on his knee. His large hand covered hers, held it tightly. "But you didn't."

Clark stared grimly in front of him. "It was my fault. Whatever it was that happened that night. They wouldn't have been able to move the stone without my strength. Then I ran away. I was responsible for that boy's death."

Diana squeezed his knee hard. "Clark, you were but a small child! You rescued the other boys from whatever evil you faced. I know you for a brave man, but now you call yourself a coward. That is not truth."

Clark didn't look at her. "I let myself forget, Diana. I didn't remember because I didn't want to."

Lana's mention of suppressed memory came back to Diana. "But something has provoked your childhood's memory. You went back to the Red House this morning, I am sure of it, when you disappeared, and came back with no memory. I know this is hard for you, but we must continue with the truth-trance, to learn the nature of the evil we face."

Clark closed his eyes, leaned back against the foot of their bed. "After your renuion with your old Amazon friend, I went to the library. I researched the Red House."

Diana was puzzled. Why had he not told her? "What did you learn?"

"Nothing much. The place used to be an old church, it was only open for a few years," he told her about the missing people and the bodies found in the years between the church's opening and closing. "I couldn't find any connection. Perhaps it was a cult, they could have practiced human sacrifice for all anyone knew. It's all in the past."

"It is a sinister place, then," Diana said grimly. "We must uncover what haunts it and be rid of it."

To her astonishment, Clark shook his head. "I don't remember...and I don't want to. Let it be."

"What?"

"I said I don't want to remember. Perhaps...maybe that's a good thing. I should have listened to Dad in the first place, and not gone back. He must have had a good reason to tell me that."

"Clark!" She grasped his chin and turned it to face hers, disbelief in her grayish-blue eyes. "The warrior who defeated Darkseid and his army, who has fought countless enemies on Earth and beyond, he now cowers before an unknown foe? I do not believe it! The man who can father an Amazon child is no coward!"

Clark pulled his chin away. "Diana, you weren't there! This is not the same! Enough of this, I'm done."

Diana was truly furious now. "No, you are right, this is not the same. You were a child then, and now you are a man. You were alone then, now you are not. I will face this with you, whatever it is. If you do not do this, you will never learn the truth. You will let what evil exists in the Red House fester for another to fall victim to, and then you may be free to think yourself a coward. For that is what you _will_ think, regardless of the truth. That will be the face you will show to our child!"

Clark was broodingly silent for awhile, and Diana feared he really was going to get up and leave. Finally, to her relief, he slowly nodded his assent, and grasped the Lasso again. "Diana, whatever we learn…I feel there may be no going back."

Diana nodded somberly. "That is the way of Truth. It drives everything before it."

They both paused to gather themselves, then Diana gently drew Clark back into the trance, this time ensuring he could feel her physical presence to him constantly.

_It only took a minute for Clark to fly to the Red House. He stopped before actually reaching it, to allow himself to walk the same path as he had that night as a five-year-old. He saw the Red House on its bare plot, surrounded by the chain-link fence. Other than that, it was the same as when he had first seen it. Nothing special, other than the unusual art-deco design. He stopped and listened. Nothing but the birds and insects, and distantly, the local farmers getting ready for work, the town of Smallville itself coming to life. All normal sounds. Clark peered intently at the house._

_There was lead in the walls, so he could not get a clear view. He knew that some houses used to use lead for soundproofing, and he recalled the article in the Smallville Courier, of how the locals complained of the noises coming from the Red House. Apparently the congregants had tried to fix that, to muffle the sounds of...whatever it was they were doing in there. _

_For a long moment, Clark stood motionless before the old house, wondering why he had come here at all. He felt - no he was positive - that Will had been hiding something, that night at the dinner party. Was his intention truly to turn this old house into a tourist attraction? Perhaps he was getting excited over nothing. But at least he might as well see what Will was doing here, even if it was nothing more sinister than growing some pot plants. Clark wasn't so naive as to not believe that some Smallville farmers would not aim for an extra income._

_There was no door at the entrance, now, and the interior stood open. Clark walked inside._

"Clark," Diana's voice came to him as from a far distance. "Was it the same as when you last saw it?"

_The house was empty, as it must have been when the last congregant left it. They had taken everything with them, it seemed. Nothing on the walls, although now Clark could see hooks where something once hung. Holes in the walls caused by vandals, or maybe rooting animals perhaps, also perhaps causing the damage to the bases of the pillars around the perimeter of the reception hall supporting the roof. The staircase, still there, the high ceiling with its thick beams. The windows had all been boarded up, the rays of the early morning sun streaming through the cracks. The same faint, sweetish odor of decay. Clark slowly walked around, trying to see and hear anything out of the ordinary. Finally he came to the arched entrance, the room which must have once been their chapel of sorts. There was no rock, only wooden boards hammered into the floor, slightly throwing the symmetry of the original floorplan off._

_Clark turned away from the room, feeling that just as with the library research, this had all been an exercise in futility. He needed to get back, before Diana awoke and noticed him gone, before she would start asking questions..._

_slosh_

_Clark froze, as if he had been struck from behind with a sliver of Kryptonite. It had been on the very edge of his range of hearing. An ordinary human would not have heard it. Senses urged him to flee, but he forced himself to wait a few crucial seconds, until he could be sure whether or not he heard that..._

_slosh_

_Clark turned quite slowly, ballings his fists, all his muscles tensing until they thrummed with tension. He felt his eyes began to burn. He would be ready this time for...for what?_

_Of course there was nothing behind him. Just that room, and that..._

_sloshing_

_It was just a bit louder this time, and it was definitely coming from the room. Coming from underneath the room. Every instinct, every primal instinct a sentient being has for self-preservation cried out in him, but his rigid self-control, developed over years of discipline, held him there. He used his vision to peer under the floorboards._

_Like the walls, the floor was lined with bits of lead, though only patchily, incompletely installed. Just rock and dirt, nothing more. He scanned the room slowly, moving up, up towards the recessed wall._

"The hole in the ground, did you see it again?"

_Diana was quite close to him. She would pull him back if he was in danger. But no,_ _he was wrong, she wasn't here she was far away, too far away to help him. He was sure of that. But yes, the hole was still there, covered up by wood now, not by rock. Someone had replaced it. He could peer down the hole, but it was nothing but black like before, the blackness...the deep, pulling blackness...but maybe not so black, because he could see something else. He strained harder, he would see it...yes, there, a faint light. There, deep down in the darkness, a luminisnence._

_slosh_

_slosh_

_slosh_

_Scintillating streaks of light, a circle of light, like a soap bubble, down there deep in the black, the roiling black. He could almost see it clearly, there, far down, he could see it, round and swirling, many many soap bubbles. Tiny tendrils of colored light moved through them. How could they exist down there?_

_He stepped deeper into the room, bent down, until he was kneeling on the floorboards, feeling his limbs growing cold and numb, he bent over the hole, seeing the circles in the dark. The colors moved, then solidified. It stopped moving. They were still now._

_Clark held his breath._

_Then they BLINKED at him._

[Longest chapter so far! Hope you have enjoyed it. Probably another chapter up after Halloween, the suspense will be over, and all - or most - will be revealed! As always, much thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming, please :)]


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_Clark knelt on the dusty, dry floor, his heart pounding. His x-ray vision penetrated the thick oak boards, seeing through the dark hole concealed underneath; he saw those circles pulsating with greenish light, then they were still._

_And then…then they BLINKED at him._

_Worse, they slowly moved, moved UP, it was moving towards HIM…_

With a bloodcurdling scream Clark flung the lasso away from him, scrambling madly away. Diana lunged for Clark, dropping her end of the lasso and seizing him tightly in her arms as he thrashed wildly about on the floor. He was crying and desperately trying to get away from...from whatever he had seen, as if it were here in the room with them, but she wouldn't let him go. Diana held him in a grip of iron, repeating his name – his given name and his birth name - over and over, reassuring him that he was no longer in the Red House. Clark's trembling was like the thrumming of a giant power conductor, and it took all of Diana's strength to keep him still, from harming himself. His face was twisted in a paroxysm of fear, his eyes shut and his teeth chattering.

_By all the gods! _Diana thought, appalled beyond words. _What evil has done this?_

Instinctively, Diana began to hum verses of ancient Themysciran songs she knew, bits of American melodies she had picked up, rocking him in his arms as if he were a small child. This had the soothing effect she intended: slowly he began to relax, the steel-like rigidity gradually dissipating from his muscles, leaving his body limp and drained in her arms. Diana was exhausted from the effort, but she kept holding him. For a few frightening seconds she wondered if, instead of healing him, the truth-trance – and whatever he had seen – had broken his mind. What if he remained in this state…? She could not think of that.

"Diana?" Clark whispered. His eyelids quivered and he opened them carefully. He seemed to recover much more once he saw her face near to his. "Am I back…I mean, here?"

Relief flooded through Diana's body. "Yes, my love, yes you are," she caressed his face lovingly, held his head close to her heart, so he could hear its beating, its life. "You're in our home. The truth-trance, it is over."

Clark said nothing then but buried his face in her breast, his arms coming up and holding her. A long time passed before either of them moved, or spoke. Hours passed. The sandalwood aroma dissipated. Finally, daring herself to speak, Diana broke the silence.

"You do not remember anything else." It was more of a confirmation than a question.

"Only that…that sensation of being seen, being watched, by something. I don't…I can't think of what it was."

"It is still there, then. Whatever it was…it did not come after you?" Diana let Clark go as he carefully sat up on his own.

"I don't know," Clark buried his face in his hands. "I don't remember anything after that, or flying away. I don't even remember hitting the barn."

"You were unconscious when you fell to ground."

Clark said nothing.

"What shall you do?" Diana urged.

"What?" Clark lifted his head from his hands, stared at her.

"What shall you do, about the Red House?"

"I don't know," Clark spoke as if he didn't quite understand his answer, or recognize his own voice. "I just don't know."

Diana considered carefully. She knew her husband was no coward, nor was he a fool. She had, albeit not often, seen him fearful before, but then the fear was the wise and healthy caution of a fighter weighing the abilities of a dangerous opponent. This was something very different - this was blind and unreasoning terror. It seemed to unman him, and she herself was beginning to feel the tendrils of dread snaking up to engulf her heart. Whatever it was, it had the power of the fear of the unknown, a deadly and crippling fear. She had to fight that fear; she had to be strong for the both of them, until she could help him overcome this.

For the _three_ of them.

"There's only a few more hours left tonight, Diana," Clark sighed. "I want to get some rest. You should too. We can decide what to do in the morning," Clark saw the look of misgiving in Diana's eyes, and he touched her cheek. "I promise. I won't…deny this anymore. But I…think we've already learned a lot for one night."

"Tomorrow, then," Diana said firmly. "We must make decision to do something about the evil that curses you and this village. You will not be free of it unless you do. But I will be by your side this time."

Clark hesitated, then acquiesced. "Yes, Diana," he kissed her. "I swear to you, this _will_ be over," he reached out and gently laid his strong hand against her stomach. "This won't be hanging over us anymore…or our family. I promise you."

"I believe you, Clark." She kissed him back. She trusted him.

* * *

_The next day._

The day dawned bright and cloudless and warm as usual, the same as the other late summer days in Smallville. They had had only a few hours rest, but in the past they had endured much less on behalf of the Justice League.

Clark had gone out to the barn to take care of the few animals the farm still possessed: a few chickens, geese and goats. When he returned, they would decide on a plan of action. Diana thought he seemed recovered from the trance, although quiet and distracted. She wondered if it had been wise to tell him of her pregnancy, next to everything else, but then she knew that it had to be done. It would have hurt him if she had kept it a secret, or if he had found out some other way.

While Clark was out, Diana took out her _xiphos_ sword from its scabbard, hefted it, feeling that familiar weight in her arm and wrist. She regretted not having practiced regularly, but she had lost none of her skill or power here in Smallville, regardless of what Gorgo implied. She had not seen that obstinate old woman since the day of their confrontation; Diana imagined that Gorgo and her mother were having quite the discussion back in Themyscira. What they would make of her condition, Diana didn't want to think, but she had no doubt they would discover it eventually, and do their utmost to drag her back (in chains, if Diana knew her mother) to Themyscira. Well, that would be dealt with in the proper time – they wouldn't take her back so easily, like a wayward child!

Deep in thought, Diana practiced slow X-cuts in the air, walking around the house, then stepped outside – she was forgetting something but what? Suddenly she lowered her sword. Lana! Lana was going to call her this morning, she had told her. Just to make sure she was all right, and "all that." Diana re-sheathed the _xiphos_ and tried to remember where she had left her cellphone. She had last used it…in the car, where it was plugged in the charger. She went to fetch it. She'd had better call Lana first, let her know that today was not a good day for them to meet up.

Clark came out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag, which he stuck into his pocket. Diana was partly right – he _was_ distracted, but only by the thought of impeding fatherhood. He found it difficult to think of anything else. He knew in his heart, despite whatever knowledge he could pry out of the crystals in the Fortress, he would be doing this without guidance from anyone, neither his father nor his biological father, Jor-El. It would just be him and Diana, alone together, just as they were…just as they were _meant_ to be. He found that a welcome challenge, rather than daunting. Diana would agree with him, he was certain. She had said so herself, in rebuffing that Amazon snob.

Looking for Diana, he saw her standing by their car, the phone in her hand, and concern on her face. "Diana! What is it?"

"Two missed calls from Lana, this morning, an hour ago."

This early? That was unusual. "Did she leave a voicemail?" Clark asked.

Diana shook her head. "No, but there is a text." She showed him the screen.

_Diana, call me as soon as you get this. Need to talk, right away. About RH._

Clark frowned. "Nothing else?"

"No. This is not like Lana, I think, she would not have called so early, at 6:00 in the morning," Diana looked at him. "Lana confided in me about the Red House, and then this. She must have some other information she desires to share."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Clark said slowly. "I'm sure Lana doesn't know anything…I mean, the same as what I know…but Will, I'm not so sure."

Diana's eyes narrowed. "You think he is hiding something?"

Clark was troubled. "He never spoke of that night when we were at his party; when he mentioned renovating the Red House he never spoke of it."

"A trauma of the past, something like that can hardly be spoke of at a party," Diana suggested. "Perhaps he has forgotten it, repressed it just as you did. He was only a human boy."

It occurred to Clark that as a child he had thought of Will as the bigger and more dominant kid, although Will was only a few months older than him, by Earth standards. Will had always been domineering and self-assured, and smart - he was still that way. Clark had always been a little overawed, even fearful of him then, despite his alien powers.

"Maybe. But we need to know more, before we rush into this. There's someone else I need to ask."

"Who?"

"Old Ed Johnson," Clark tilted his head towards the road. "I'm sure he was there with my father that night. They were close friends. He knows something, I'm positive."

"He is an old man. His mind wanders. He may not know anything anymore."

"Still, I need to ask him," Clark insisted. "I'll head there now."

"Might the Lasso help?"

Clark shook his head ruefully. "No, I think it would kill him! I won't press him, if he is really too far gone. Besides, it would be good to check up on him anyway, since he lives alone."

Diana nodded in agreement. "Then I will go see Lana while you attend to him, and see what other light she may shed on this darkness."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and he bent close to her, looking deeply into her eyes. "Be careful, my love. Let's meet back here, when we're done, eh?"

Diana felt the darkness push back from her heart, become filled with hope again. She saw her husband, Clark – Superman – again in her eyes, and she saw him also in his new guise - that of a strong father. She knew he would be strong for her - and their child. She grasped his hand.

"I agree. Back here, and then we will fight!"

* * *

As he pulled up to the Johnson farmstead, he saw that the old man's rickety Ford truck was parked in front of the house, so he was home, or maybe in his barn. Even at ninety-some odd years, he would still not stop working. It was the Smallville work ethic. Clark parked next to it and sat there for a moment, thinking. The old farmer had certainly known something about the Red House, but especially he was knew that it was dangerous.

_You should know Clark!_

He had known that Clark had gone that night to the house. Perhaps he had been on the search team for the missing boy. Clark needed to find out what else the old man knew, despite his senility, he only hoped the old man was able to remember. His powers didn't extend to reversing Alzheimer's, unfortunately.

Clark got out of the car and walked up to the porch. The house resembled the Kents' farmhouse, but much more worn-down and badly kept - Johnson clearly also hadn't been able to keep up with the maintenance and repairs. He would need to help him with the repairs someday, Clark thought. There was no doorbell, so he rapped on the door.

"Mr. Johnson?" he called out. "Ed?"

No response, but something felt wrong. He could hear nothing, no movement He used his vision and what he saw made him bust through the flimsy front door, and rush inside. Johnson was laying inside on the floor of his cluttered living room, face-down, his cane on the floor next to him.

"Ed!"

Clark rushed to his side and checked for a pulse. It was faint but still there. "Ed, can you hear me?"

The old man's eyelids fluttered, and he opened his rheumy eyes a crack. "Clark?" his voice was raspy, barely audible. "That you, boy?"

"Yes, yes it's me. Hold on, I'll get you to a hospital."

"No…time, I think…too late…fell down…mebbe yesterday…."

The old man was weak and dehydrated. He must have fallen, been unable to move and call for help. He was critical and needed to get to the hospital immediately – there might not be time for the ambulance, or even to call 911. One of the hardships of living in a rural area.

As carefully as he could, Clark picked up the old man in his arms and ran outside, looking around quickly. He would be taking a risk but it wouldn't be the first time…

"Put me down, boy," Johnson rasped. "I…ain't never been flying, an' I'm too old to start now."

Clark stared at the old man, astonished.

The old man chuckled weakly. "You think I didn't know, boy? There be…a few of us old timers…nobody's business, outside…the taown…yer pa…so proud…"

Clark felt he could barely speak. "I'll take you to the hospital in the car, then. Hang on, Ed!"

"No time, I said," Ed's trembling hand reached up, tried to clutch Clark's collar. "I knowed why you come here, boy…that damned place…I knew it…yer pa too…"

Clark paled. "What…what was it? I remember going there now, but I don't know what was there…Ed, what was in the house?"

Ed Johnson's eyes were growing dim, and he seemed to be struggling to get out what he wanted to say, as if it was choking him. "It's…abomination…what's in there…not meant to be seen…by anyone…cursed people, out-of-taowners…brought it here…called it up…don know how…it...the dark…that three-lobed eye..."

Johnson's voice drifted into incoherent mumbles, which barely sounded English.

Clark couldn't wait any longer. He rushed out of the house, to his car. "I'm getting you to the hospital now, Ed, hang on!"

"Too late…Ima ready…dear dear Betty…" Ed coughed as Clark placed him carefully in the car.

Clark slid into the driver's seat. "Ed, I promise you…I'm going to do something about it!"

This brought on another violent reaction from the old man. He sputtered, coughed up runny brownish-yellow phlegm. "No!" the old man cursed. "I dun told you boy…I knowed yer pa did...wanted to keep you safe, boy…I'da promised yer pa ta keep yer secret…cursed abomination I tell ya!...no good, it's…damned thing…"

The elderly man coughed, started mumbling again, drifting again into incoherence. Clark gunned the engine and raced towards Smallville General, not hearing anything, not allowing himself to think.

* * *

Diana Kent pulled up to the Richardsons' house in her small car, parked on the other side of the street. The neighborhood was markedly quiet, everyone who lived in the identical suburban houses either out at work or at school. It gave the place a look of desertion, which she didn't like. Perhaps it was because all these houses looked the same, despite the homey touches some of the residents gave their lawns.

She had tried calling Lana several times, but only the voicemail picked up. She had texted her too, but also there was no response. Now, arriving at her house, she saw that both her car and Will's car were there. If they were both home, why had neither picked up? Unless the phone was switched off, or where they couldn't hear it. Now she was at the door, and ringing the bell, but still, no answer.

Again, Diana felt that uneasiness, her sense of danger rising, but perhaps the weeks and months of quietude had made her uncertain. Concern for Lana, her friend, prompted her to go on. If she had to, she would break through a door or the wall itself to get inside. But she soon realized it was unnecessary. She tried the door, and she found herself unsurprised to learn it was unlocked.

She stepped inside; she had no hesitation, at all, part of the "directness" Lana had appreciated in her, especially when she thought something needed to be done. Her piercing gaze swept the interior. It looked the same as the last time she was here, the night of the party: the same things, nothing unusual. "Lana?" she called out. "It's Diana. Are you here?"

No response. It was very quiet, except for the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the living room. Diana's hearing was extremely acute, and she could hear nothing else, but she still could not be sure. She glanced up at the stairs leading to the second floor. She didn't recall being up there, where the bedrooms and Will's study were. "Lana?"

Cautiously, she ascended the stairs. Up on the second floor, all the doors were shut, except for the guest bathroom, and the study, which were left wide open. No one.

"Lana? Will…?"

She entered the study; it looked like any college professor's. Bookcases lined the walls, every inch crammed with books. Tables and cabinets were piled with notebooks and papers stacked on top of more papers. Will's credenza at the far end was likewise top-heavy with folders and books. Scattered amidst all these tomes were similar antiques like the ones in the living room that reflected Will's interest in the Middle East.

Diana looked away in disappointment. Perhaps Lana and Will were with someone else, left for some other appointment. She should get back to the house, surely Clark would be done speaking to the old man by now. Yet something kept her here. Clark had said Will was renovating the Red House, and Lana had said he was its custodian or owner. Perhaps there may be something here after all, if she took a look around.

Diana looked at the papers on the desk. Student papers to the right, journal articles on the left. The title of the one on top was, _Monograph of The Institute of Midwestern Anthropology, Vol. XXII: Legends of Yig Among the Kiowa and Arapaho of Central Kansas. Author: Dr. Phineas Potter._

She turned it over, saw more papers with similar titles. One manila folder bore the name of Potter. Something about that name triggered something in Diana's memory but she couldn't quite place it. She opened it, looked inside. It contained handwritten letters, presumably from this Dr. Potter, addressed to Will.

The first one:

_Will,_

_I've sent you the materials you requested. It is not much, but hopefully even the most paltry materials can reveal a wealth of details, if one knows how to look. Once again I urge you to take extreme caution in your studies. Your current research interest is commendable – not many people have an appreciation of pre-Islamic Arabia! – but the direction requires a considerable preparation in order not to fall into certain errors of judgement regarding..._

Half the page was missing, or torn off. The second page seemed to be a different letter, dated later:

_Will,_

_My boy, I must express my deepest concern at your proposal. The Church of Starry Wisdom closed its doors in 1928, and its congregants dispersed to places unknown. I have done my best to attempt to track down the members of this so-called house of worship, but have met with minimal success. However, I did manage to locate a single member, a man by the name of Blake, whose last and final address was a flophouse in San Francisco 40 years later. When I attempted to inquire as to the current whereabouts of this man, I discovered – to my considerable discomfort - that the man had died an extremely nasty death there several years ago, and that none of the residents of this charming establishment would speak an iota as to the circumstances of his demise. I believe that we may never learn anything more of this Church, save that its roots were back East, and that the object of worship on its altar was something called the "Shining Trapezohedron," or perhaps, that this article enabled them to commune with the actual object of their worship, which continues also to remain unknown (I have my theories but I will not commit them to pen and paper). This Shining Trapezohedron was believed by this cult to have certain properties, that by gazing into it, it also gave them visions and enabled them to speak in a secret language…_

The rest of this letter was also missing. Diana was mystified. What was this?

Another letter, the last one, in the folder:

_Will,_

_I urge you to cease and desist whatever it is you are doing, at once! I do not know what your true intention is, but I shudder to think of it. That thing, that abomination in the Red House must never get out. The consequences if it does so are unimaginable. Those deviants of the Church of Starry Wisdom called it up, but like its ORIGINAL creators, they could never fully control it, so they sealed it up beneath the Red House, underneath the rock that bore the sign. Perhaps as a kind of perverse joke, if you like, or perhaps they intended it as a kind of booby trap, for the unwary to come across. It almost caught you, do you not remember? Those other poor boys that were with you, the Wilder boy, he never recovered, and he is a a mindless mute to this day, living in an institution, the wretched boy, and the Dodds child was never found, undoubtedly consumed in a way I dare not to think. Only you and the Kent boy survived. By some grace you were both spared - will you not see this as a sign that you are meant to do great things? Better things? But not to indulge in these mad ideas! I regret now that I ever introduced you to this, I had truly hoped you would have followed my footsteps. Perhaps my colleagues on the East Coast were wise to burn the books and notes and wipe this knowledge from the face of the earth. For Lana's sake, I beg of you, turn away from-_

The letter ended there, the rest of the page also ripped away. Reading it had chilled Diana in a way she had never felt before. She tossed it down, on the desk. She had to rush back and tell Clark. Then she heard a noise behind her, and whirled around.

Will Richardson was standing behind her, his blonde hair neatly combed from his forehead, his face composed, looking neither surprised, nor offended that she was in his study snooping around. Diana wondered how he could have come behind her so silently, without her hearing...?

"Diana," Will said mildly. "So pleasant to see you again. Have you decided to take me up on my offer?"

"Where's Lana, Will?" Diana demanded. "I came to see her."

"Oh, Lana's fine…but I hoped you'd come to talk about something else," Will slowly walked around Diana, moving to his desk. She watched him closely, like a cat. "Did you find this interesting?"

"What do you mean?"

Will took the folder from his desk, tapped it very lightly. "The Red House, I mean. Are you interested in visiting it?"

Diana clenched her hands, stepped closer to him. She felt, no she _knew_, that he knew everything. Everything that had happened, before and since. Clark was right to think he was hiding something, but what?

"Why do you think I would be?"

"I don't know," Will looked up at her, and now there was no doubt at all that was definitely leering at her. "A private place to visit, there's much to see…and to do…if you know how to look, a wealth of details, " Suddenly he reached over and grasped hold of her wrist, surprising and infuriating her with his speed and presumption.

Diana flung Will's offending hand away and snatched him by the collar, yanking him halfway across the desk.

"Dare not touch me again! Tell me where Lana is or I shall…"

She was prepared to essentially stomp him until he revealed what had happened to Lana, but then she felt something quite strange happen. A numbness was radiating through her body, as if every muscle and nerve was being told to freeze in place. She didn't understand, at first, what had happened.

Then she looked down, where Will's left fist pressed against her waist. Then she saw the dagger his fist held, its blade had penetrated up and above the right hipbone. If she had been wearing her corselet, but even so…how could it have?…Dark crimson was seeping through her jeans and shirt.

Astounded, disbelieving, Diana looked up at Will. His face was calm, composed, he had the air of a teacher was used to reprimanding a problem student, and that this was just another somewhat distasteful task in his daily routine. He also looked like he had planned this, instigating her to make the first move, then sweeping up the dagger from his desk and striking her with it, all in one smooth motion, like an expert. But he was only a teacher...or was he something else...?

"Women have a way of complicating things," Will said pedantically. "Things that don't necessarily have to be so complicated. It's all very simple."

Diana pulled away, at the same time Will tried to push the knife inwards, but the blade (_stone_? _obsidian_?) broke off from the hilt of the ancient (_magicked?_) weapon. But she didn't, couldn't, waste time to think about that. She had to get away.

_My baby._

Diana tried to retreat away from the study, but felt her legs go weak, and she stumbled and fell in the doorway, just as Will came from around his desk. She opened her mouth to cry out, _Clark_, she wanted to scream, but just then Will kicked her sharply, on her wound, and she gasped in pain and shock instead. This man was strong! Too strong for…how?

"No histrionics, please," Will picked up the scattered papers on the floor as Diana writhed in pain on the ground. "I've already had enough for one day. And you've caused me to break a very ancient blade, very curious find I picked up in Yemen. Anyway, as I said, it's all very simple. The Great Old Ones return, and then everyone else goes…well almost everyone…but even then-" He looked at Diana, raised an eyebrow. "You must think I'm mad."

Diana shot him a look that gave him the answer; she had managed to pull herself to her knees, and was still trying to get out into the hallway, blood dripping onto the carpet from her wound.

"Amazing stamina," Will remarked. "I thought you'd be dead. Clark certainly found a unique one in you."

She looked as if she was about to cry out something; he took two strides toward her; instantly she kicked out, gasping in pain as she did so, but caught him a glancing blow on the shin. He snarled angrily in pain and grabbed her dark hair, yanking her head up. Diana cried out, tried to bite his forearm, but Will grabbed her by the throat and shoved her brutally against the doorjamb. Diana's eyes stared murder at Will but he only grinned again, revealing his teeth, his pronounced incisors.

"What is it do you think you are doing? What can anyone do?" Will shouted at her. "You're useless, all of it is useless! All this nonsense, schools and governments and business, let it all be swept away I say! Nothing but a waste of time. Nothing but a bunch of simpering, puling babies, we've become, having to be protected by so-called 'superheros,''" Will laughed, a mad sound. Diana struggled, but Will struck her again, and then again. She collapsed on the floor, bleeding, gasping in agony. "If sheeple have to resort to this, well, it's about time someone else had a go. Someone who was here before, and will come again. This was _their_ world, to begin with, anyway. We're just here crapping on it, fucking it all up. But they will come again. _Iä!_ Yes, they will come again, and soon! In fact," Will bent down to her, grinning knowingly. "They are already here."

"You..are…mad," Diana's choked voice was barely audible. Instinctively she had curled up, guarding her stomach. Her eyes stared up at him, with loathing. "I…will…kill…you..for what…you've done…"

"No chance of that, I'm afraid," Will reached down and grabbed her by her throat, pulling her up brutally. "Come. It's time to go feed the _shoggoth_."

* * *

[Thanks for all the reviews! I'm really happy you all are enjoying reading this, just as much as I am enjoying writing it :) Many, many revelations in this chapter! You should be able to guess what it is our couple are facing now! It's going to be a wacky fight, if I can figure out how to write it! I'm a visual writer so my idea for Will is Michael Fassbender, who was very creepy - and blonde! - in _Prometheus, _which I did like, although he may look a little too European. Someone one the Hell Yeah Superman & Wonder Woman web site suggested Charlize Theron to play WW, which would be great, I think! Just needs a black wig ;) And she was in _Prometheus_ also, so it works XD. Again, many thanks for the review, please keep 'em coming, I do read and respond to them, if I can!]


	11. Chapter 11

[Warning: Strong language ahead]

Chapter Eleven

While Diana Kent was discovering certain details about Will Richardson's involvement with the Red House, her husband and Justice League partner was at the Smallville General Hospital, the sole medical facility for the rural township. He had carried Ed Johnson into the ER, and the staff on duty had quickly taken the elderly farmer away to treat him. Old Mr. Johnson had not said anything else about the Red House; he had lapsed back into unconsciousness when Clark had driven away at speed. Now Clark paced the waiting room, hoping to hear that his old neighbor would be ok. He'd tried calling Diana, but she wasn't answering her phone. That wasn't unusual at all, as she often forgot to take it with her. Unlike so many other people, even though she enjoyed playing with the technological toys of Man's world, she wasn't particularly attached to them. Lois by contrast was practically glued to her phone 24/7, a pro at multitasking, chatting into her Bluetooth even when she was talking to real people, watching TV, typing on her laptop, or – yes – even in the bathroom, as he'd realized one time when he heard her flush in the middle of a conversation about her article on Lex Luthor's latest parole.

Clark sat down heavily on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs provided for visitors. There was only one other person here this morning, a large Mexican woman who dozed against the opposite wall, a tatty paperback clutched in her hand. The waiting room was dingy, and perhaps been renovated about the time Clark first left Smallville: a small old box style TV provided a fuzzy picture of FOX News forecasting rain for America's Heartland, predicting the end of the months' long drought. A half-empty vending machine stood forlornly in one corner. Torn-up old magazines and used candy wrappers littered the linoleum floor. It was unbearably depressing. Clark knew with a certainty that Diana would not want to have the baby here; no, she would definitely prefer a home delivery rather than in a sterile hospital room attended to by unfamiliar (male) doctors. But that meant he would have to…assist, wouldn't he? How would he do that, exactly? Would they have to have a midwife also? He thought he had read somewhere that home deliveries required midwives...maybe. But what if there were…complications? For that matter, what did 'complications' imply? Especially for her? Clark suddenly had visions of an (angry) Amazon midwife arriving in the middle of the night and booting him out of the house, the same way husbands used to be exiled from delivery rooms into the waiting room, like this one. He wondered how many expectant Smallville fathers had waited in this very room, smoking cigarette after cigarette, society mores dictating that they weren't allowed to be present at such a precious moment.

He leaned back in the anti-ergonomic chair, rubbing his beard, forcing himself to re-focus. He was aware that he was deliberately distracting himself by thinking about anything else other than the problem of the Red House. He had really tried to remember as much as possible about the night when he was a five-year-old, tagging along with the older boys to the abandoned house. Diana's lasso had prompted the memories of that night to re-surface, but it really didn't make them any clearer, neither were the other memories of when he had gone back alone. One moment he remembered the missing boy silhouetted against the dark, and the next…lying on the dirt road by the highway, trembling with shock, his little fists clutching the collars of the other two boys lying next to him. He remembered peering with his x-ray vision at what was underneath that room in the Red House, but then the next moment was also blank.

_Why is it that I can't remember? It is because of shock? Or could it be some kind of psychic weapon? Why didn't I try to fight it the second time? _

An unwanted answer came to him like a leaden knell against his heart.

_(I didn't fight it because I was afraid)._

Clark closed his eyes tightly, and he grasped his knees. He knew he was not a coward. There was no one and nothing he would not fight, if it meant protecting his world and those he loved. So what _was_ this? What had happened to him?

The problem was that he didn't know what _it_ was. What it was, where it came from, or what it wanted. All he did know was that Johnson, and his father, had known what it was, and they had known whatever it was, was monstrous and they wanted him far away from it. Clark realized that part of him desperately wanted to obey them, to pretend that none of this had ever happened. Diana, on the other hand, was right: he simply couldn't do that anymore. How could they raise their child in a place where something like that existed, waiting, ready to hurt others? Especially here, in Smallville, his home?

Clark opened his eyes and breathed in the stale air of the hospital. He then noticed that the large Hispanic woman across from him was awake and staring dully at him, as if he'd bothered her somehow. He attempted a wan smile but she ignored him and returned her attention to her paperback, some kind of horror novel judging from the lurid illustration on its cover: a dark sea monster snapping up helpless fishermen in its tentacles, dragging them down to doom.

Feeling unusually cold and stiff, Clark stood up, wondering how much longer it would be before someone would come out to tell him about Johnson. He wandered over to the nurses' station, but there was no one at the desk. He glanced around the corner, saw one of the nurses on duty talking with a police officer Clark didn't recognize, a young guy probably just out of the academy. Clark turned away, thinking he might try to listen for the doctor's conversations; as long as he was assured that the old man was stabilized and in good care, he could return home.

Clark concentrated, closing his eyes and listening intently. He could hear the medical machines clicking and whirring and beeping, hear the murmurs of the doctors and nurses all over the hospital, discussions about patients or just gossip. He didn't like eavesdropping usually, although this ability had helped him more than once as a reporter. He heard the nurse and the policeman the clearest, their being closer. He heard the man lower the volume on his radio so that he could better hear the nurse he was chatting up for a date. It didn't matter to Clark, he could still hear the police band clearly. So far, nothing about the old farmer. He decided he might try to walk in and check on the man himself if the doctors didn't mind (or, he could slip in and out without anyone noticing), until something he heard on the police band made him freeze in place, and his eyes widen in alarm. The Red House. Someone on the police band had just mentioned the Red House.

Dispatch: _Unit 2, what is your location?_

Unit 2: _Dispatch, this is Sergeant Whatley. Patrolman Goyer and I are over here in the Ashley District. Someone called in a hazardous material condition, near the site of the old Red House place._

Dispatch: _A HAZMAT? What kind? We have not received any report of a vehicle accident. Confirm._

Unit 2: _Negative, we do not see an accident either. We're driving up the dirt road now. Almost there. Call came from a cell, lost the signal before we could get more info._

Dispatch: _Let us know what kind of HAZMAT it is, Unit 2, if it's serious enough we might have to call in the cleanup team from the next county over._

Unit 2: _Roger that, Dispatch. Probably just some assholes dumping old motor oil rather than take it to the recycling center. We're coming up to the old house now._

Clark leaned against the wall to steady himself, feeling his heart starting to pound as he listened to the police band. The young policeman was still flirting with the pretty nurse, why wasn't he paying attention to his radio? He forced himself to think clearly, he knew that he could hear things the policeman could not. He could hear the police car's tires roll over the dirt and rocks on the road, hear the driver shift the parking brake into place, hear their idle conversation, hear the doors open and shut as they got out of their cruiser. He wanted to cry out to them, to warn them, but he felt as if he was gradually being drawn back into his nightmares, only he was up and awake now, not dreaming. But he still couldn't move, as if he was being forced to relive them all over again. He could only listen to what was happening.

Unit 2: _Dispatch, we've arrived at the construction site. Is there active work going on here? Looks like someone's messed with the chain link fence here, there's a big hole here._

Dispatch: _Any damage to the site? Vandalism?_

Unit 2: _Don't know yet. We're going up to take a look._

_No!_ Clark wanted to shout, but he felt himself still benumbed, unable to move or speak.

Unit 2: _Dispatch, we're at the back of the house. It's an affirmative: there's a spillage here, a pretty large one flowing out the back, maybe from a crack in the foundation. You better call for that HAZMAT team. Looks like it's still leaking too._

Dispatch: _Roger_. _Can you confirm whether it's gasoline, or oil, or something else?_

_A young country-sounding voice in the distance: "Could be tar, Sarge, looks a bit like it. I'm gonna make sure it's not just some roofing tar spilled over."_

Unit 2: _Sergeant, can you determine where the leak is coming from, if there's an underground pipeline we don't know about, we might also need to call in the-_

_The same voice in the distance: "Don't think it's gas, Sarge, doesn't smell like it. Smells kinda funny, looks a bit bubbly like boiling tar too but it don't feel hot…oh, hey…wait, it….hey, HEY!"_

A scream pierces through the police band, high and shrill. Then another alarmed shout, closer to the radio. _"Goyer? Goyer!"_

The screaming and shouting continue, unabated, growing louder in intensity, in agony and pure disbelieving terror. Gunshots ring out: one, two, three, four shots.

Dispatch: _Unit 2 come in, we heard shots fired. Confirm: shots fired. Do you need assistance?_

Unit 2: _The…the goddamn SPILL sucked in Goyer! Oh God! It's…it's…what the FUCK! My God! Goyer!" More gunshots. "Oh my God!"_

Dispatch:_ Sergeant, what's going on?_

Unit 2: _No, no, no, nononono! Dear God, it's moving, it's all fucking TEETH! Its swallowed him. It's coming at me! HELP ME! Get away!_

Dispatch: _Sergeant Whatley calm yourself, you are not making sense. Who is there with you? What is condition of Patrolman Goyer?_

Heavy breathing, the sound of someone running, the harsh panicky sounds of someone running for their life, running faster than they ever had before.

Like the flash of a lightning strike, Clark remembered. He remembered, now. That night as a child in the Red House. Seeing Joe Dodds standing in the arched doorway of the chapel, arms at his side staring blankly at him and Will and Billy, in front of the black that rose up blocking the view of the room behind him. The black that suddenly developed _two perfect rows of sharp teeth_ on either side of Joe, that then silently fastened in on him, sliced into him, through him, and drew him into the blackness, the red blood and white skin flowing seamlessly into the black. Joe did not even have time to scream. Clark saw his wide, shocked, agonized eyes just before the black film slipped over and covered him forever. Then, eyes, _other_ eyes, the same luminescent eyes that bubbled up out of the black, the same that he saw from underneath the floor, shot through with filaments of scintillating gold and red and purple, pouring out of where Joe once stood, one, four, ten, TWENTY eyes….starting to _pour_ through the Moorish doorway and out after him and the others...but all his nightmares had ended before the thing in the Red House could get out.

But now he was awake, and the nightmare was still not over. It was out, the thing in the Red House was _out_.

Dispatch: _Sergeant! Sergeant Whatley, come in!_

Unit 2: _Dear God it sucked in Goyer, swallowed him up. I saw him! I saw IT! He tried to climb out of it but it bit him_!

Dispatch: _What? What are you talking about 'it bit him?"_

Unit 2: _It's on me! Oh God, oh God help me! No…no…get away! NOOOO!_

A single gunshot. Then...silence, and underneath that silence...a small yet distinct, sloshing sound.

Dispatch: _Backup is on the way to you right now. Hang on! Sergeant? Sergeant Whatley! Come in. Come in._

Clark snapped out of his dazed immobility, suddenly realized with dismay that he had been standing there in the lobby staring like a madman, nearly drooling into his beard. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, looked back at the nurses' station, saw the policeman with his radio in hand. The green rookie was fiddling with it, frowning, as if not quite sure what was going on, his nurse friend staring at him in confusion.

"_¿Buscas?_"

Clark whirled around at the sudden voice. That woman on the other side of the waiting room was staring at him again, her dark brown eyes solidly fixed on him. They were dull and vacant, but there seemed to be an odd curiosity behind them, a certain light...

"_¿Buscas?_" she repeated tonelessly.

Clark was unsure what was going on, still stunned by what he had overheard. "Wha-what?"

"_¿Buscas el casador de la noche?"_

Clark shook his head in incomprehension. He could still hear the police dispatcher, trying to raise the sergeant again on the radio. Clark knew with a dreadful certainty that they would never raise the man again. Something terrible had just happened, and he was still standing here in this room as if petrified. What was wrong with him?_?"_

_You know. Don't go. You don't have to. Leave it alone._

Clark shoved those thoughts angrily away from him. What had he been thinking? He was Superman. He would not avoid this any longer! Something was trying to keep him away, but he would no longer be frightened off. This was Smallville, his _home_, and he _would_ defend it.

_If you go back to the Red House you will die._

Clark thought of Diana, then of what their child might look like. "I will die...if I do not." he growled.

A second later, a young physician walked into the waiting room, clipboard in hand. She wondered at the sudden gust of wind when there were no doors or windows open. "Mr. Kent?" she called out. "Mr. Kent?" But there was no one in the waiting room, except an overweight Mexican lady engrossed in her paperback book.

"Excuse me, ma'am, did you see a man waiting here?" the doctor asked. Perhaps he had only gone to the mens room and would be back shortly.

The dark lady looked up from her book, stared at the young white woman emotionlessly.

"_Nada,_" she replied.

* * *

Shorter chapter this time! But I didn't feel like leaving everyone hanging after what happened in Chapter 10, so at least we know what Clark is up to. Chapter 12 may be up by later next week, as I have alot of other work to do this weekend. In Ch. 12 will see what happens to Diana and Will, and a return of some earlier faces. Again, THANK YOU for all the reviews. 100 reviews so far, woo hoo! Please keep them coming I'm glad that many of you are enjoying the read!

PS: Not sure if the Spanish is grammatically correct, I'm relying on Babel Fish for translation bits. The weird lady is asking "Do you seek the haunter of the dark?" UPDATE: A big thank you to PhoenixRose76 for better translation!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Diana collapsed to the floor, gasping, tasting the sharp metallic tang of blood in her mouth. A dull and cold throbbing radiated from her hip throughout her body and she realized that the broken blade of the knife was still embedded in her hip, causing the intense pain. The blade must have broken off in her body; she had to remove it before she could recover. She struggled to look up at her attacker and see where he was, even though her vision was getting blurry. Will was standing there in front of her, unmoving, gazing dispassionately down at her as if she were no more than an untidiness that needed to be cleaned up and disposed of so that he could get on with other, more important matters. It infuriated her, but she felt she could barely move her limbs.

Rage blossomed within Diana along with the awful realization that this man, this _creature_, had hurt her…and had no doubt hurt Lana, or worse. She didn't dare think about the baby within her...not yet. If she did, she feared the anxiety would paralyze her, rendering her unable to think or act. "I will…kill…you for this," she grated, murder in her hoarse voice.

"I think not," Will said calmly. He abruptly lunged down and grabbed Diana by the neck, hauling her up roughly to her knees. Stunned and choking, she grabbed at his arms, trying to wrench them off of her, but his grip felt like iron, almost as if he had Clark's strength. This wasn't possible – what power could be giving him this unnatural strength?

"Come," he said. "It's time to feed the _shoggoth_."

Will flung her aside brutally like a rag doll, away from the door. Diana fell hard against the wooden railings of the hallway. She felt herself slipping into darkness, and she fought to stay conscious. She saw Will go back inside the study and reach for something inside his desk. He pulled out a large flashlight, the heavy tactical kind used by military and law enforcement personnel. Upon seeing it, she turned and desperately tried to crawl away on the thickly carpeted hallway floor for the stairs, but she realized she would not be able to reach them quickly enough.

_Shoggoth_, she thought. What had he meant by that? Was that what was in the Red House?

Will walked out of his study without any hurry, the heavy model flashlight in his hand. She turned her head to look at him, her muscles tensing.

"What…is...in the Red House? Does Clark know…?" she panted.

Will paused for a second, eyeing at her with contempt. "Clark," he sneered. "Put that weakling out of your mind. He's not going to help you. Nothing is."

"Do you not…remember that night when...when he…saved you from that thing…in the house," Diana knew she had to keep talking to distract him. She had to try to find a way to throw him off his guard, somehow. "What are you hiding?"

Will was staring down at her, a surprised look on his face. "What? What do you know about that?"

"He..." Diana winced, another wave of pain threatening to overwhelm her, and she fought it back. "He was your friend…he saved your life…that night…from that thing…what happened…to that other boy?"

"Clark told you all that? He actually remembered?" Will barked a short laugh, a harsh sound. "He was just a little puking kid! And he didn't save anybody as I recall. I don't know what he told you about any _monster. _No monsters, there, " Will smiled, not a pleasant sight. "But you will see for yourself, just as that other brat did. I could enlighten you further, I suppose, but for that you are certain to not understand. No one can really...only a few, perhaps, certainly not Clark or you...or Lana," Will twirled the heavy flashlight in his hand, tilted his head as he appraised her prone body like a slaughterer approaching an animal, as if judging where best to club her with it. "No one in this town can, but soon it'll be wiped off the map, just like most other things will be," Will laughed again, a high and mad sound that chilled Diana. "It will be the best thing ever to happen to Smallville, and it couldn't have happened to a nicer place! Yes, I think Smallville will have the distinction of being the place where it all begins. The Starry Wisdom people thought so too. It should have happened back then, but as with all things concerning _them_, all things, past and present and future, are all the same. It makes no difference."

"What..are you..saying?" Diana had pushed herself up on her arms, bracing herself against his attack, staring at him in horror. "You would…let that…thing out?"

"Oh," Will said casually. "That. It's already out. I've made sure of it. You needn't worry - you will already be dead, I'm sure. You won't suffer." He approached her then, raising his arm high.

As he swung down at her head, Diana rolled, trying to trip him up as he attacked. It might have worked, but Will didn't overbalance as Diana had hoped; he caught himself on the railing, whirled about and swung at her head, only missing it because Diana's cuff caught the blow, sliding off it with a dull _clung_. Will didn't seem to notice. She tried to get up, but his boot caught her hard in the chest. She fell back, and saw him step over her, raising the broken flashlight for a second try at her skull.

_Clark_, she thought, bracing herself for the next and final strike. _I'm sorry…_

The blow never came. As silently as a Navy Seal a man lunged forward from an adjacent room off the hallway: the upstairs bathroom, as Diana remembered. He struck Will a tremendous blow on the temple with the butt of his Glock pistol. Will dropped the flashlight and staggered back, blood spurting from over his eye. The man rushed forward but Will struck out blindly with his fist, catching the man on the jaw, sending him staggering back. Will rushed at him and they struggled for a minute; for a moment it looked as if Will might prevail, but then the stranger tripped Will up and hurled him down the stairs, where he tumbled head over heels and fell into a heap at the bottom. He didn't get back up.

Diana spat blood from her mouth, tried to sit up, fell back, forcing the pain away. The stranger was breathing hard; he stared at the still form of Will for a moment, and then he rushed to her side, kneeling next to her, shoving his gun in his leather jacket pocket. She recoiled from him instinctively, but he grasped her gently by the shoulders, quickly seeing that she was injured. He looked vaguely familiar. For a moment, she thought it was Steve Trevor. He had the same powerful military bearing and muscular build, and the close-cropped haircut.

"Are you all right?" the man said urgently. "I would've drilled him, but I couldn't for certain know if I'd get a clean shot…wait," He stared at her in astonishment. "Aren't you...Mrs. Kent?"

Diana suddenly recognized him as the former Marine from the diner. She nodded, touching his hand in relief. "You are…Sergeant Corben?"

He nodded, attempted to smile to show her that things were going to be all right. She imagined he didn't smile often. "John. My name's John. Hold on, you're bleeding badly, let me see."

"My hip," Diana shuddered. "Above…the bone. He stabbed me…there, the blade is...there. You must…get it out."

Carefully, John Corben rolled her over on her side and saw the black glistening edge of the knife embedded in her flesh, blood seeping around it. He reached for his belt, pulled out his Leatherman tool. "I'll try to pry it out," he looked at her, warned: "I've done this before, with shrapnel. It's going to hurt."

Diana gritted her teeth. "Just…do it."

Pressing his hand against her hip, he aimed the pliers at the wound, pushed it in. He heard the woman suck air between her clenched teeth, but she kept still despite what must be agonizing pain. He knew how it felt. Amazing. Most women he personally knew would be screaming hysterically, but not this one - this one was different. Expertly, he pinched the invading object with the pliers and pulled it out carefully, not wanting to lose it back into the muscle. He stared at the sliver of sharp black stone, about as long as an index finger. "What the hell did he stab you with?" He flung it away from him, not liking the look of it, somehow. He reached into one of his cargo pockets, pulled out a clean bandanna and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding. "I have a first aid kit in my bike's saddlebag. It can do until we get you to the hospital."

"No…hospital. Help me up!" Diana grabbed his arm. Already, she felt the deadly cold and the pain caused by the weapon receding away…slowly. It still hurt but at least it was no longer still poisoning her with its foul magick…whatever it had been.

Corben stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean? Lady…I mean, Mrs. Kent, we have to get you to a hospital right away, you're really badly hurt."

"No! You…you can bandage me up. I need to get home…need to warn Clark…he's in danger."

"Look, ma'am…"

"Diana," she stared at him fully in the face. "You…saved my life. Just..help me get…outside."

Corben realized it would be no point arguing with her here in the house. Carefully he slung her arm over his shoulder, and put his other arm around her waist. "On three: one-two-three," he got her onto her feet. He thought she might pass out there and then, but she remained conscious, to his amazement. Where had Kent, of all people, found this one?

A thought occurred to Diana through the haze of pain. "What…why are you here?"

Corben hesitated. "That asshole…has something of mine. I need it back," he replied but he didn't elaborate. He looked at her as if he might ask her the same question but he didn't. "Come on, let's try to get you down these stairs."

Together, they moved to the top of the stairs and then stopped.

"Shit," he muttered. "I thought I killed him."

There was no one at the bottom of the stairs. The door was open, a crack.

Corben pulled his gun out with his free hand and held it out; with his body turned so that he would face first whatever might approach them, he slowly helped Diana get down the stairs. No one attacked them. Cautiously, he pushed the door open, and stepped outside. As before, when Diana first drove up to the house, the neighborhood was silent and empty, as if nothing untoward had happened. No one was about. One of the cars was missing from the Richardson's driveway.

"He's gone," Corben observed. "And he's fucked your ride, if that's your car." He gestured at Diana's car, which was now resting on flat tires.

"It is," growled Diana.

"My bike's around the corner," he stared at her. "Ma'am….Diana…I really think I should get you to the hospital. You can barely stand."

"No," Diana repeated firmly, but her voice held a touch of anguish in it now too. "No…doctors. I'll be fine. Please…take me home…John. Will's going…to try to kill Clark. I am sure of it."

"Then we should call the police," Corben replied, but he sounded unsure. Diana knew for certain then that he was hiding something too, but for some reason he had helped her. At that moment she realized definitely that whatever was happening in Smallville was not limited to this little town. Whatever evil was here, it had stretched beyond its boundaries, and was threatening more than just the townspeople here. It had to be stopped, whatever it was. Clark had to be warned, perhaps the Justice League too.

"They can't help. Believe me."

Corben stared at her. For a moment she reminded him of the female Marines he had known in Iraq and Afghanistan, she the same strong and steadfast character, the same stubbornness. Hell, he had that too. She also reminded him of his ex-wife, the same beautiful eyes and raven-black hair, that is, if Denise hadn't let herself go and turned into a junkie and whore. He also didn't like or trust either policemen or doctors, so her reluctance was easy to understand.

"All right. I'll do what you want. I'll take you home. Do you think you can sit a bike in your condition?"

"I will," Diana replied grimly. Corben did not disbelieve her.

"Come on, then," Corben tightened his grip on her, feeling again the same sensation as when he was overseas, when his convoy was leaving for a hot spot, the same feeling as if he was going back into battle. Perhaps he was. "Let's get going."

* * *

Another small chapter, but smaller chapters means more updates ;) I had some free time today to finish at least this cliffhanger so we know Diana's out of trouble (for now)! Chapter Thirteen to be up hopefully by Friday or next weekend. Thank you for your reviews, and again they are always welcome.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Clark flew at speed towards the Red House, taking care to avoid the populated areas so no one would be able to spot the famous Superman in Smallville, although he doubted anyone could actually see him, traveling as fast as he was. He needed to get to the Red House before anything else, anything more terrible, could happen. He listened intently for the police band, and soon he heard what he expected: the voice of the dispatcher directing another cruiser to the Red House. That was what he was afraid of - he had to prevent the police from going there, he couldn't allow any more people to get hurt.

He paused in his flight and hovered over the paved highway just before the unmarked dirt road that led to the Red House. His eyes glowed deep red and rays shot from his eyes, blasting a section of the road, creating a crater wide enough to make car traffic impossible in any direction. Hopefully the police or anyone coming upon it would think a sinkhole had opened up and, with luck, it would keep them delayed for awhile at least. He turned and resumed his flight quickly.

_What will I find there?_ Clark wondered, but then he pushed any hesitation away from his mind. As he flew over the land, he watched for any sign of danger, whether in the sky or on the ground, but he saw nothing, and nothing appeared to attack him.

A few seconds later, Clark dropped down at the house, landing next to the abandoned police car. Even before his boots touched the ground he looked around quickly; although he was apprehensive, he was prepared to fight…but he was still uncertain of what he was looking for. He could hear the radio inside the car, the worried voice of the dispatcher still trying to contact the missing policemen. Clark saw no sign of life. He began his search for the officers. He doubted they would still be alive, but if there was a chance at all…

He found the first patrolman, Goyer, near the front of the house, and any hope he had that the policemen could have survived was dispelled. The young man was lying flat on his stomach, covered in an oily yet clear, viscous fluid. His pistol was still in his hand, but his head was…gone. It had been sheared cleanly off at the base of the neck, as if snipped off by giant shears. Blood stained the earth under him. Seeing that there was nothing to be done for him, Clark searched for the other policeman, the sergeant. After a moment he found him further away, sprawled on his back against the edge of the wood, which he had been clearly running for. His firearm was also still in his hand, all the bullets expended. Like the other man, he was covered in the same viscous stuff, and decapitated.

Clark knelt by the body and carefully touched the strange liquid. It felt like petroleum jelly, lukewarm to the touch, with a strange odor. He wiped his fingers on the ground, grimacing in disgust. Thunder boomed in the distance. He looked up at the sky, full of dark clouds – it was already starting to rain, just a light patter of raindrops falling now, but with the promise of a heavier downpour to come.

He straightened, his fists clenched and his guard still up, but couldn't hear or see anything out of the ordinary. In fact he could hear nothing at all – no sounds of birds or insects or other animals. They had all fallen silent, and the woods were ominously quiet. Whatever had killed the policemen, it was no longer here in the immediate vicinity but it had to be around somewhere. Why had it taken the heads? Clark then recalled what he had read in the _Smallville Courier_: the hobos found with their heads missing. It had to be the same monster. But where was it now? Could the bullets the men had fired in their last desperate moments wounded it, and it had crawled somewhere to die?

He doubted that.

But if it was not dead, it still couldn't have gotten far.

Had it gone back into the house?

Clark rose to a foot off the ground, and floated slowly back to the darkened entrance, fighting back the foreboding that he realized had first started when he'd returned to the Red House, with Diana. He now knew that it – whatever it was - had lain dormant in the Red House for all these years, but why, after all this time, had it awakened and attacked people? Did he somehow, inadvertently, have caused it? He shuddered to think that his curiosity might have led to this carnage, but deep down he knew that something else, something sinister, must also have been at work here, other than mere curiosity. He wondered what Will might have been doing in this house during his "renovations." How much had Will remembered of that night when they were kids? Did he know about the earlier history of the Red House?

Clark carefully studied the entrance. It remained wide open as before, and the interior was shadowed. If it had gone back inside, it was deep within, somewhere where he couldn't see or detect it, because of the lead-lined walls. There was still that impenetrable silence - he couldn't hear anything inside the house. He made a circuit of the house, but there was nothing else. Finally he realized he had to enter the house itself. Why was he hesitating out here? He steadied himself, and flew in, fast. Once inside, he rose to nearly the top of the high ceiling, preparing himself for anything. He half-expected an attack immediately, but again, as outside, there was absolutely nothing except the dust motes in the air and the unnatural stillness.

"Where are you?" Clark shouted in sudden frustration and fury. "Come out and show yourself!"

He turned a full 360 degrees in the air, probing. He saw the arched Moorish doorway that had for so many nights been the setting for his nightmares. His eyes blazed again and red beams smashed the archway to pieces, disintegrating it and clearing the way to the chapel-room beyond. It revealed that the floor of the room was broken and open, revealing the yawning hole below, slightly larger than the hole that he had peered into days ago. Someone – or something – had destroyed the tiles and boards and scattered them aside all over the chapel.

Cautiously, he floated down to the edge of the hole, every muscle in his body taut and tense, his fists clenched and held out in front of him. The hole was dark but he was unsure just how far down it extended, only that it had to be enormous – he could feel a slight breeze across his face, stale and thick. He tried using his penetrating vision, but all he saw was emptiness: the thing that had been in his nightmare, in the hole, wasn't in there anymore. He strained all his senses, thinking he might detect something, anything that could tell him where the thing had gone...he didn't yet think he could go down in there.

His red boots gingerly touched the floor, at the edge of the hole. Cautiously, he bent over, and picked up one of the shattered tiles, turned it over in his hands. They hadn't been sawed, or cut - they looked like they had exploded, not from outside but from within. Clark picked up other pieces of the shattered boards, examined them too. They were just made of ordinary wood, thick solid wood, or plaster, but on one side, the side facing down, the surface was smoother, and there seemed to be some writing, or markings, drawn in black ink. He couldn't make out the design or pattern since they were scattered all in pieces all over the room. Clark straightened, looked up at the recessed wall, the empty niches that distinguished this room. The Red House was once called the Church of Starry Wisdom. He wondered what those people all those years ago could have been doing in this room…what were they worshipping? What had these walls seen? Had some of those people come back? That had been in the 1920s, surely, they would all be deceased by now.

Something then, some slight noise – or motion? – made him jump back in a hurry. He dropped the broken boards and he flew backwards rapidly away from the hole. Was something down there after all? He thought he'd caught a glimpse of a faint glimmer, like fireflies in the dark, something moving and bright. Just for a second, it was there. Nothing like what he had seen in his dreams, but he was certain it was there. Or had been there. He couldn't see it now.

"Who are you?" Clark roared. "I am Kal-el and I will defend this place! Stop hiding like a coward in the dark and fight me!"

Red heat beams shattered and burst what remained of the floor; eruptions of dust and flames brilliantly lit the dark exterior of the chapel-room, and then the blasted materials collapsed into the hole. The noise was startlingly loud after the silence. Nothing appeared to take up Clark's challenge; the only noise now was the popping of the old, warped wood as the heat cracked them. He could hear only the rain falling down outside.

Clark lowered his fists and exhaled softly, feeling the nervousness and anger ebb from him. The thing that had once been underneath the Red House was no longer here, and he was wasting time staring at this dead end when he needed to be outside searching for, and stopping it, before another hapless policeman or a farmer stumbled across it. But he would demolish this place first and plug the hole with the rubble, to be safe. Clark was about to punch his way through the roof, when a sudden remembrance caused him to drop back to the floor.

Diana! He suddenly remembered their planned rendezvous back at their farm; she was probably there now waiting for him, wondering where he was, or worse, she might be on her way here to look for him. If she came across that thing that was once here, the thing that was now out and had killed…he didn't want to think of that.

Clark had no doubt Diana could take care of herself in nearly any situation, but now that she was with child, _their_ child…there was no way he could allow her to risk herself, even as much as she wanted to help him. He knew she would object, and object very strongly too, but so much more the reason for him to get back and try to convince her to stay back while he took care of this, alone. He had to.

Clark turned and ran for the entrance but then he stopped cold. There was a man standing in the doorway, wrapped in a long black raincoat, his head bowed, water dripping from his blonde hair. His long arms were outstretched, touching the lintels on either side of the doorway. Although he couldn't see his face, he recognized him instantly.

Clark was astonished. "Will?"

* * *

John Corben raced his Harley as quickly as he could down the empty highway; Diana Kent had given him directions to her home. He could feel her arms around his waist, and he hoped she would not lose consciousness and fall off the bike, but she seemed to be hanging on. The worst scenario he could imagine would be if the police tried to pull them over, but strangely they had not seen a single car, or any one for that matter, on the way. At one point he thought he heard a loud boom, but perhaps it was only the thunder. A storm was coming soon. Corben wasn't worried about the storm, however…other matters were on his mind, and chief among them was the whereabouts of Will Richardson.

Diana leaned against Corben's back; she still felt weak, but she could tell her body was healing itself. Whatever kind of weapon that Will had stabbed her with, its effects were receding gradually, although not as fast as she would have liked. More importantly, she did not think the blade had penetrated through to her womb. The baby would be all right, she was sure. Now, she needed to find Clark, to inform him of what had happened, that Will had probably killed Lana, and had tried to kill her. That he was connected with whatever evil was in the Red House. They had to stop him.

Corben pulled up to the Kent farmhouse, just as the rain started coming down. He shut off the bike and jumped off. Diana immediately noticed that Clark's car was still gone. Corben helped her off the bike, and was amazed to see her able to stand on her own now, even though she was still a bit unsteady on her feet. What a wonder!

"You sure you'll be okay, Mrs. Kent?"

Diana nodded, her hand pressed to her side, where Corben had duct-taped a pressure bandage to her wound. Duct-tape, he had said, was humanity's great invention, and she was now inclined to think so too. "Thank you. Yes…I will be all right."

"It's a miracle you're still alive, you know, you're really tough," Corben shook his head, almost ruefully. "Clark's a lucky bastard. You better take care of yourself though, and make sure your wound doesn't become infected. It looked pretty nasty. Whatever he stabbed you with could have been poisoned."

Diana's eyes looked into his. "How do you know Will, John? You said you had dealings with him before."

John Corben turned his face aside and said evasively, "I don't know him at all, really. I…loaned him a book for his research on Arabs, a book I picked up in the 'Stan. He didn't return it so I came to get it back from him, then I heard all that commotion going on with you two upstairs. Good thing I was there."

Diana knew that he was telling her half-truths. He had come to the house, she was certain, immediately prepared to commit violence, and not just because he had seen a woman in distress. She wondered what was really behind his animosity. "Did you see Lana at all?"

"I don't know who that is."

"Will's wife."

"I didn't know he was married. Like I said, I really don't know him, we just had a kind of business transaction. Poor lady, I can't imagine she's ok. I'm sorry, but I've gotta get going. I need to find that fucker, and I'll make sure he'll pay for what he did to you, so you don't need to call the police."

Diana felt his last words were more of a warning than advice. She considered restraining him until he could tell her more, but she knew that would only make him fearful and resentful, and he would likely fight, which she didn't have time for - she needed to find her husband. But she had to learn what he knew, if she could. Gently, she asked, "Do you know about the Red House?"

Corben stared at her. "Why?" He demanded.

In that one word he used, and also in the way he said it, that told Diana that Corben was aware of its history. "John, please, listen to me. Stay away from that evil place. Whatever quarrel you have with Will, it is not worth it."

Corben stared at her a second longer, mystified and uncertain, but then his eyes hardened. She saw then that he just took her words as a typical "woman's pleading."

"I don't know what you're talking about. You take care of yourself, ma'am," Before she could say anything else, Corben kicked the bike back into life, and swung it back towards the road. "Don't let Clark get involved in this!" he shouted over his shoulder, and then he was off in a burst of dust and engine throttle.

Diana shook her head angrily. Foolish men, all of them! Now he would put himself in danger, because she knew that he would look for Will there now. She couldn't wait until Clark returned from the old man's house, if he was even still there. Some part of her instinctively knew the truth already, that Clark hadn't waited for her and had already gone to the Red House; she knew he would want to face this demon alone, fearing for her safety as if she were an ordinary woman! Clark didn't understand that Amazon women didn't pamper themselves ridiculously when they became pregnant, they way so many women of this world did. She would have to hurry. She would re-bandage her wound, gird herself, and grab her sword and lasso and head into the fight. She only hoped she would be in time.

* * *

Clark stared at Will, who stood unmoving in the doorway of the Red House. He hadn't even looked up as Clark approached. He was just standing there, very casually, yet something about him made Clark uneasy. A memory, unbidden, flashed into his mind: of Will, when they were at school together for the first time, looking down at him with contempt.

_Clark, that's a stupid name. Who are you anyway? What does your dad do?_

_My pa's a farmer…why?_

_Hmph. My dad's a surgeon. He's one of the richest people in town. He owns most of Smallville. He could buy your dad and your whole farm!_

_We're not for sale!_

_That's what you think. Soon, I'll own the whole place too!_

"Will, what are you doing here?"

With a slight horror, Clark realized that Will was talking to himself. No, he was chanting, or singing something, in a melodic voice, just under his breath, but Clark could hear him quite clearly.

"From the gulfs of space to the wells of night, from the wells of night to the gulfs of space…say forever the praises for the Haunter of the Dark, Tsathoggua, and Him-in-the-Gulf, _Iä!__Iä! _Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat with a Thousand Young!" He stopped and started to repeat himself, as if he was the only person here.

"Will!" He stopped singing. Clark stepped closer. "Will…what are you doing?"

Will looked up at him calmly. He seemed not at all surprised that Clark was here in the Red House, or even that he was no longer dressed as Clark Kent. He saw that Will had a large bruise and cut over his right eye. Who had attacked him?

"That was a hymn they used to sing here, when it was called the Church of Starry Wisdom," Will replied, in a voice like he was instructing a class. He lowered his arms and walked away from the entranceway, strolling into the ruined house as if he were entering a great museum, ignoring Clark's bemusement. "There were only a few, perhaps no more than eighteen members. Most of them came from back East, many of them from established and wealthy families. There were a few dilettantes among them, bored Gatsby types with a taste for the occult, but the majority of them were serious…seekers. Of course, the locals around here were too frightened to cross the threshold, all "bitter clingers" to their churchy beliefs and morals. Well, all except for one local," Will stopped and smiled at Clark, a wintry look. "My grandfather. I'm quite sure he was the only Smallville resident to become a member of the Starry Wisdom. You probably didn't know that, did you Clark?"

"You know all the history?" Clark stared at him. "Do you remember that night…?"

"No, I didn't…well, not until recently, when I did some research of my own. I did remember, and learned a bit more as well."

Will looked up and around him, spreading his arms wide, taking long steps so that Clark had to turn around to keep him in view. "This place, the Red House, there was a reason they painted it red, you know, and no, not for the reason you're probably thinking. Red, as in _homage_, of sorts, to the Great Messenger. This was not the only branch of the Church of Starry Wisdom, there were others, but this was the only one in the Midwest, as far as I could determine. The only place where the good Reverend Bishop presided, and brought forth what was thought to only exist in more remote places of the Earth. She only did that, you see, so that no one could disturb the altar, or what was on the altar, to be more precise. Back East, certain persons had figured out what the Church was on about. It had gained a little unwanted notoriety, so some of the leaders came out here, to Smallville of all places, where all the local hayseeds put together wouldn't have enough brainpower to figure out what was going on. But _they_ decided the place was a little too small, in fact, so they all decided to leave, for far away climes. Very, _very_ far away. My grandfather left with them. My father was only two at the time, but it didn't matter. Granddad left plenty of notes, which dear old sad dad refused to decipher despite his PhDs, so I did it myself, eventually," Will looked at him again, tilting his head. "I learned much, much more from them, and from a few other sources."

This wasn't making sense. "That night, you and I were here, and those two other boys," Clark said hoarsely. "The one that didn't get away, and the rest of us, we barely escaped…don't you remember? What was that thing here? What do you know about it?"

Will's grin broadened, sharklike and almost inhuman. "Oh, I know enough. I'm surprised, Clark, that you came back here, after all this time. Of them all, I thought you were smarter than that, but perhaps at heart you're really just a rube like the rest of them. Your beautiful wife seems to have caught on much quickly than you. A pity she won't be joining us in discovering more together. There's so much to still be uncovered."

Clark felt his blood turn to ice. "Diana? What are you saying?"

"You didn't know? Diana came by the house this morning. She has - had - a healthy curiosity, although I'm afraid to say it didn't turn out too well for her. Oh well. So now, we share something else in common together. We don't have to be encumbered by women anymore, or by anyone else. Not when there is so much more!"

Clark felt a tremor, like an earthquake's deep rumble, rush through his body, a shuddering emotion of rage, fear, and grief. His fists clenched and he felt his eyes start to burn, almost uncontrollably. It couldn't be possible!

"Diana, what…where is she? What have you done to her?" he growled, in a voice he barely recognized as his own. Will seemed completely, incomprehensibly, oblivious to Clark's emotions.

"Interesting. Very interesting," Will remarked, as if he was still in his classroom, and looking at a science experiment. "I knew you were somewhat different, Clark, but how different I wasn't really sure until now. Now I know how I got out of the Red House…the _first_ time."

"TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!" Clark bellowed, and rushed at Will. In less than a second he had grabbed Will by the neck and had slammed him against the far wall, flying several feet. Only by the barest self-control did Clark not break Will's spine. Even so, Will behaved as if this was no more than a slight inconvenience to him.

"I don't know," Will said. "It doesn't matter. She will go the way of Smallville, and eventually the way of all matter. Once I knew the _shoggoth_, I knew everything…"

Some faint memory of terror touched Clark's mind through the haze of anger and dismay. "That thing in the house…you've let it out?" he stammered, incredulous.

"Of course. As they once sang here in harmony, 'from the gulfs of space to the wells of night'…what was, is, and will be, again, _once the stars are right_."

"Where is it?" Clark tightened his grip on Will's neck until he started to cough and turn red. "Where is it, damn you!" he shouted again, in Will's face. "Tell me before you can't!"

Even as Clark held him, Will smiled, and said calmly,

"Behind you."

* * *

Diana rushed out of the farmhouse, only limping slightly now, fully clad in her red-and-black corselet and tiara, her golden lasso at her hip, her _xiphos_ sword gripped tightly in her hand. She looked up at the sky, rain falling on her face. The rain didn't matter. The pain still throbbed at her side, but it was distant and manageable, the herbs she had paused to take had eased it. Later, she could tend to it better, but she had to get to the Red House quickly. A strong sense of hers told her Clark was in danger. She had to get to him. If anything was threatening her husband, she would have its life!

She leapt into the air, and was away.

* * *

Clark heard it, he sensed it, even before he turned around, seeing only for a second Will's face as he did, and he saw in Will's eyes the reflection of what now rose up just beyond the doorway of the Red House, and also the certainty that strange light that meant that Will was absolutely mad. But Clark's rage drained from him like water down an open drain, as he turned and faced the thing that had haunted him in his nightmares, what had killed the two policemen…it was there _behind_ him all along...

…and it _was_ like boiling tar, bubbling and flowing and popping, only the bubbles were not bubbles but eyes, blinking and opening and closing, then sinking again into the black tarry mass, disappearing, only to reappear and disappear again. Eyes of red and purple, bloodshot inhuman eyes, dozens, no hundreds of them, and together with the multiple eyes were the multiple jaws of teeth, rows upon rows of fangs and molars, gaping wide, clenched shut, opening and closing not set but flowing throughout the seething, writing mass of black protoplasm. It constantly moved and changed and flowed into itself and over the ground so that it was impossible to follow with the eye.

He thought he heard Will say something behind him, but he didn't understand it. He had not even a second to try to comprehend what he was seeing before a writhing projectile (a tentacle?) of black ropy matter shot out from the thing and wrapped itself around Clark's neck. He screamed as it touched him, his arms going up to try to grab at the horrid matter, the awful substance that he had recoiled from in his dreams. Another filament wrapped around his waist; from the same a tendril looped out of it and curled itself around his thigh. Clark howled in anguish, wrestling wildly with the protrusions even as it yanked him up and out through the doorway of the Red House.

* * *

Diana dropped down at the site of the Red House, prepared for battle. She saw the police car, but Clark's car was not there. Her face was set hard, ready for battle. She looked around, and saw a body lying on the ground by the edge of the wood, dressed in a policeman's uniform. Just as Clark had, she ran over to the body, crouched over it, seeing the damage perpetrated on it. Whatever evil was in the house, it had certainly killed this poor man, and she knew that whatever had done it was not human.

"Clark!" Diana cried out. "Where are you?" She knew he would hear her no matter where he was, she was certain of it. He would come to her.

She crouched, waiting looking out away from the house towards, the road, as if she expected Corben, or even Clark, to come driving up the dirt road. Perhaps Will was coming too, or he was nearby, so she had to be on her guard. He was not going to escape her. She clenched her teeth in anger, remembering how he had hurt her - she would have his blood for that! But uppermost among her thoughts was Clark - where was he? Was he all right? Some dreadful premonition was threatening her, and she prayed inwardly, refusing to succumb to her natural fear for her family.

She heard it, too, before she saw it. Behind her, something huge, and dreadful, a sickening odor emanating as if from the very ground. It was behind her, at the house. Diana whirled around, and for a moment she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, only seeing something dark and seething, as if the night had materialized and a bit of it dropped to earth, splashing and crawling towards the Red House. Then she heard someone screaming, and with a sick horror realized that it was her husband's voice. Then she saw him, the thing had him in its grip. He had braced his legs against the crumbling walls of the entrance, but the thing's pull was drawing him inexorably to itself, the multiple mouths yawning wide open to receive him. Diana only had a moment of pure fear, then she rushed at it, forcing herself not to think.

"_Clark!_" she yelled, and leapt towards him, and thing that had him in its maws, her sword raised high...

* * *

**[Shock! Horror! Thanks again for taking the time to read this and trying to make sense out of this plot ;)A longer chapter this time, I hope you will enjoy it. If you haven't guessed the crossover yet, yes, it is the Mythos: the Cthulhu Mythos or Lovecraftian Mythos, actually, since Great C isn't making an appearance in this story! If you are not familiar with the stories of HP Lovecraft, check out first "At the Mountains of Madness," and then two other popular stories are "The Haunter of the Dark" and "The Whisperer in Darkness" the other major influences of this fic.**

**Later writers also contributed to the Mythos, but just as with any series that has a variety of authors (comics anybody?), the quality is a mixed bag, but one really good story is Elizabeth Bear's "Shoggoths in Bloom" which I think is available for free online if you Google it. It is not really a 'horror' story, but it influenced me in writing how Will learns to control the shoggoth. When I've finished this story I'll elaborate more on all the Lovecraftian influences in this fic (many if you can spot them)! Hopefully Chapter Fourteen will be up after Thanksgiving, if I don't have to cook! How will Diana and Clark fight this horror? What is Will's secret plan? What is Corben up to? What happened to Lady Gorgo? and more to come! As always, reviews are wonderful and welcome. A big thank you all who've already sent in reviews, and if you have PM capability, I always try to send an individual thank you!]**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Diana turned around and the sight she beheld froze her mind and body in absolute horror. The thing that arose before the Red House was unlike anything she had ever encountered, whether in Man's World or Themyscira. Only a minute ago, before she had diverted her attention to the road, there had been nothing there at all. Now, what she saw had come as if from nowhere, as if out of the ground itself. But what it was, her mind found it difficult to comprehend: a monstrous mass of pulsating, protoplasmic black matter, its surface reflected no light, nothing but pure darkness, over which was densely covered with eyes and mouths, each one of them chomping at the empty air, and blinking. It had no definite shape or form, but its mass was spread over the ground in front of the Red House. Even as her bewildered eyes tried to follow its hideous and constantly shifting form, still unable to fully conceive of what she was seeing, its bulk rose higher and higher, until its crest was higher than the clock-tower. It was alive, or it was some foul semblance of life, and she felt a primal hostility and fear that seemed to come from her deepest ancestral memories. At that moment, she knew without doubt that this, this _demon_, was what had haunted her husband as a child, and his subsequent nightmares. It was now here, out in the open. What had that madman Will done?

Diana stood motionless as if turned to stone even as the rain poured down, drenching her. She felt cold and afraid, her sword arm trembling, her hands growing nerveless. This demon surely had to come from the deepest pits of Tartarus itself, or worse. Finally, she could fully understand the fear her husband felt, because now she experienced it herself. But Clark, her Kal-el, where was he? _Please, Athena, all the gods, do not let him be hurt...no, I could not bear that._

Whatever this thing was, she saw its attention being drawn towards something within the Red House itself. With a shock, she heard Clark at last, and he was screaming, just as he had done in his nightmares, and the sound was awful to her. She saw the creature extrude from itself ropy strands of pustulating black extensions of the same matter as the rest of its form. It reached into the Red House, and she saw her husband ensnared in its horrid grip. It was trying to pull him out of the entranceway, but he was fighting it, despite his clear and obvious terror of it, it was reflected in his face, pale and staring. His body was twisting and turning, his hands trying to wrench the black tendril from around his neck. He was still crying out wordlessly. In a sudden mad frenzy his eyes blazed red and intense beams struck one of the demon's bulging and lidless eyes. With a horrid sound it burst apart in flame and smoke, splattering a sickly-looking dark-green pus-like substance everywhere, but the loss of a single eye did not seem to even hurt or affect it; as the charred remnants of the eyeball sank into its black mass, another one arose to take its place, gazing balefully at the thing it held. He braced his legs against the doorway, fighting with all of his strength in a last attempt to avoid being drawn into gaping maws that appeared wide open to devour him. It was trying to eat him, possibly in the same manner it had killed the policemen.

"Clark!"

Upon hearing and seeing her husband's pain, the shock and terror which had immobilized Diana finally broke with a vengeance. With a deafening war cry, Diana hurled herself towards the thing, forcing all hesitation out of her mind, her focus on nothing else other than coming to her partner's aid. As she landed on the shrinking patch of clear ground between the house and the demon she raised her sword high and she swung down with all her strength, in one stroke cleaving through the thick tentacles that gripped Clark. There was nearly no resistance to her sword; it felt as if she were cutting through nothing more substantial than gelatin. She saw her blade slicing through an eye of the creature; it split down the middle, then floated on the surface of the body. Both halves actually seemed to look at her, and see her clearly, before it was reabsorbed into its dark body, as had been the other.

Freed from the thing's clutches, Clark fell to the ground heavily, gasping like a beached fish, as the tentacles that once gripped him so powerfully, now severed, seemed to dissipate into trickles, like rivulets of water, flowing back towards the creature to be reabsorbed just as its eyes were. Diana ran to him as the thing hesitated and drew back slightly at this sudden new appearance in the doorway, as if it seemed to understand that there were now two people before it, resisting it. She saw that his suit was covered in the viscous oily gunk that covered the bodies of the police officers, but it had not penetrated his suit, and he did not seem to be physically harmed by it.

"Clark!" Diana cried. He looked up at her, but he didn't seem to see her, as if his eyes were blind, just as he had been when he woke up from his dreams. He only could see the thing behind her, and he scrambled madly backwards, a high, whining sound coming from his throat. Her senses highly pitched now, Diana whirled about, her arms criss-crossing in front of her just as a projectile of matter shot out from the dark mass at her head; it splashed against her bracelets, splitting to either side of her, and she noticed that within it were teeth; dislodged, they clattered to the ground, and they twitched with a life of their own, before dissolving into nothingness. But the sheer force of the blow knocked her backwards a good distance, and she landed next to her husband. The pain in her side flared, strongly, but only for a moment. She forced herself to ignore it. She jumped to her feet in a low-crouch quickly, her sword before her, warily watching the monster as it continued to pause just beyond the entranceway, as if puzzled by either the physical obstruction, or by the obstinacy of its prey. A multitude of forming and unforming eyes stared at her, blinked. They were not human eyes, and she could read absolutely nothing in them. Some instinct told her not to look at them too hard, or she might succumb totally to her fear.

Diana spared a glance beside her and saw Clark still collapsed on the ground face first, his palms pressed against the floor. His eyes were squeezed shut and his teeth were clenched. "Clark!" she shouted again. "Can you hear me? Kal-el!"

No answer. He was still in shock.

As if in substitution an answer came from the creature. Once again, a second, and much larger tentacle flung itself towards Diana. Grabbing her Lasso, she flung it and felt it catch, feeling the tension on it. The golden rope looped around the whiplike coil; at its capture the coil swung wildly to and fro, nearly yanking her off her feet. She braced herself and held on, her bootheels digging into the floorboards.

"Speak, demon!" she shouted. "What are you? What do you want here?"

In response the tentacle whipped more forcefully from side to side, trying to dislodge the alien thing on it; it seemed to have grown stronger, and it took all of Diana's own strength to keep her hold. "Speak!" She commanded.

She wished she hadn't.

The coil twisted upon itself, tying itself into a strange knot, looping upon itself, over and over again. Diana watched it curiously, keeping the tension as tightly as she could on the Lasso, wondering what it would do next. Then all the eyes of the creature disappeared back into the body, and emerging in their place, dozens of open mouths appeared, circles of black within black, gaping wide to give her its terrible reply.

The voice of the _shoggoth_.

"_Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

The sound of the thing's voice was high-pitched, even musical, but the voice was absent thought, absent intelligence. There was no emotion in that sound, or feeling, it was an inhuman voice – a machine's voice by contrast would have been a thousand times more human. The insidious voice of the thing echoed in her brain, and her first instinct, her primal reaction, was to retreat from it, to where she couldn't hear it any longer. It was a terrible sound, a sound not meant to be heard on this world, she was certain.

Abruptly the tentacle stopped writhing; it shrank and melted back into the creature's larger mass, freeing itself of the Lasso. It had not held it because there was nothing there to hold, Diana realized in astonishment. It wasn't, that meant...it couldn't even really be alive, not as she knew what _alive_ to be. The thing continued its mindless piping call, repeating the weird cry as if it was stuck on a repeating loop. The entire massive bulk of the monster rolled back away from the entrance, and she could hear the rumbling noise as crushed everything under it.

_Is it retreating? _Diana wondered, backing away. _What fresh horror is it planning?_

It rushed forward and struck the front of the house, slamming its bulk against it like a bulldozer. The entire building shook, and dust fell from the ceiling. Now, it was trying to get in.

_Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

Retrieving the lasso, she turned and grabbed Clark roughly by his cape, yanking him to his feet – this was no time for niceties. He wasn't paying any attention to the attack of the _shoggoth_, in fact he seemed barely conscious, as if he were stupefied. He was still in shock, and trembling. "Come on!" She yelled, but she could tell he was not hearing her. Her concern at the moment was to put as much distance from that demon as she could, until she - they - could think clearly again, but she needed Clark to be with her. She could tell that he was absent presence of mind or spirit…she must break the spell the demon had cast upon him.

Diana didn't hesitate. She grabbed him roughly by the hair and turned his face to hers, and as hard as she could she slapped him across the face. She immediately winced in pain, hoping she had not broken her hand, but it had the effect she wanted. Clark blinked, took a deep, shuddering breath, and he finally seemed to recognize her, but his expression was still one of agitation, as he realized what had just happened.

"Diana!" He stared at her in shock and dismay. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you?" Diana grasped him, as the entire Red House shook again. The front of the house bulged forward, cracks appearing in the walls, as the _shoggoth_ began to push and smash its way in. The earth seemed to tremble, as if in an earthquake, and they clung to each other.

"You were supposed to wait for me at home!" Clark shouted in disbelief. "I thought you were dead!"

"You did not come! What was I to think?" Diana cried. "How is it that you came here without my arm at your side!"

Before Clark could reply, a loud _boom_ echoed throughout the house as the front wall shattered and the _shoggoth_ came through the breach like a storm surge over a broken levee. The thing was back again in the Red House, flowing into it like a tidal wave of black mud in a flood. The eyes in its body and appendages swirled around in it, as if it were searching for what had escaped it, and there were other things in its bulk: debris from the woods, and the ground, bits of broken branches and rocks, and to their horror, the body parts of the young policeman, absorbed into it and now floating just as if sucked up in dark floodwaters.

"What now, Superman?" Diana growled.

He looked up at the ceiling and his eyes glowed again. He was cutting the beams of the ceiling just above them, in a semi-circle. Diana could see what he was doing, but the terrible high noise of the creature was coming closer. She looked in front of them and saw it, it was heading for them - it had seen them too. It roiled and tumbled, pulling itself along the floor with a surprising speed, its eyes and mouths contorting and gnashing.

_Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

"Hurry," she muttered. "I have no wish to end up headless."

"Hang on!" Clark launched himself towards the roof, and raised his fists as Diana clung to him. He smashed through the roof as the rest of the ceiling, weakened, caved down on the _shoggoth _with a thunderous clamor. A massive cloud of dust and splinters shot up but Clark and Diana rose above it, and they landed on the far end of the mansion, closest to the looming clock tower. They paused, listening, waiting for the sounds of the tumbling beams and bits of metal and plaster to settle. Half of the Red House was now completely demolished, fallen on top of the creature.

"I don't think I can hear it...anymore," Diana murmured, relief in her voice. There was a blessed quiet now. There seemed to be no other sound than the rain, which was still steadily falling.

Clark was not so sure. "I don't know," he replied.

"Why did you not wait for me?" Diana asked him again, quieter this time. She realized she was still trembling slightly, after battle shakes, they were sometimes called. But the battle might not be over yet.

Clark's eyes were hooded. "I found Johnson collapsed in his house and I took him to the hospital. While I was there I overheard the sounds of the policemen being killed by that thing," he looked at her as if he only just saw her now. "I saw Will here, in the house. He said...he led me to believe that he killed you."

"That dog," Diana felt her anger rise again. "He attacked me, at the house," she shook her head at Clark's alarmed look. "I am fine. I did not see Lana. I think he has harmed her, and he has let this evil out into the world. He knows something more, I am sure of it. Where is he?"

"I don't know. The...the thing attacked me then," Clark closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "I think he is controlling it, somehow, I don't know how."

"He must be found! Others will come here, we have to stop him."

Almost as if on cue, the sound of a powerful motorcycle came to their ears; it was still some distance away, but to them it was quite clear someone was arriving. "Corben!" Diana said.

Clark stared at her. "What?"

"Your military friend from the diner. He was at Will's house. He came to do Will harm, for something, but he saved me from Will's attack. I do not know what his feud with Will is, but it is connected with this place, and with whatever black magic Will is involved in."

"Just great," Clark grimaced. "The police too, they're going to get here eventually, even though I damaged the road. I've got to stop this."

Another boom from beneath them, in the pit of debris, and the the could see that the pile of ruined beams and walls start to tremble, as if were shaking in an earthquake. The _shoggoth_ was moving again, it had only been temporarily halted, perhaps. Black bubbles started oozing through the debris, faintly luminous. It was getting out from under the rubble. He clenched his fists tightly, and his broad chest seemed to expand, the presence of that pure physical power that made Superman so frightening as an opponent. Diana raised her sword, ready to fight again.

"Diana," Clark said quietly. "Go home."

She stared at him, taken aback, at first thinking his mind was still foggy. "What are you saying?"

"Please," he implored. "I know you want to fight, and I know you can...but, now...I can fight this, now that I've seen it, out in the open. It's shown itself. It won't have that power over me ever again."

Understanding came to Diana, and she had to bite her lip in anger. "No."

"Diana, please..."

Diana knew that in only seconds he would begin to beg her, and she did not think she could bear that. She could bear the eldritch, mocking voice of the demon, defying the Lasso, but the voice of her husband pleading her not to fight because of...of her _condition_, she would not endure that.

"No! Do not humiliate me further by asking me to take care of myself!" Diana snarled. "Do not dare to beg, to me of all people!"

Clark stared at her, furious, but she did not flinch from his anger. "I'm not asking you to humiliate yourself, I'm asking you not to be selfish! This is not just about you, anymore!"

"After all this time, you still see me as a woman!"

"What else should I see you as?"

"You know what I mean! I am an Amazon..."

"So you keep reminding me!"

John Corben ignored the rain, which was falling harder, and drove towards the Red House. It was not hard to find; on his last trip through Smallville, he had taken the time to research some places for his proposed new business. But he had to admit that those ideas he had puttered around with ever since his discharge had gradually receded in favor of getting his antique book back from Richardson. He had done a different kind of research, and was surprised to learn of the presence of such a place in such a bucolic small town right in the middle of the Bible Belt. But perhaps it wasn't really that much of a surprise. These places weren't as all holy as they appeared to be.

A loud noise made him pull over and switch his bike off, listening carefully. It sounded like a demolition explosion, a sound he had become very familiar with overseas during his deployments. It was unmistakable. But what was it doing here? What the hell was that bastard up to? Was he already mucking around with what was in that damned book? That certainly was quick. The benefits of a college education, Corben guessed, while he was sleeping rough in converted storage containers in the desert. It didn't matter, in the end.

Corben pulled out his Glock .45, checked his loads, and decided to approach the rest of the way on foot, on a few hundred more feet. He would recon it quickly. He wished he'd brought more firepower, but he'd make do with this. It would do for Will, anyway, no matter what he was up to.

He approached the Red House, and the first thing he noticed was the body of the dead policeman lying by the woods. Immediately, his mind and physical responses snapped into combat. Something was wrong here, so better to be ready for anything. But the last thing he expected to see was Superman and Wonder Woman, the famed Justice League heroes, standing on what was left of the Red House, apparently engaged in some loud argument. What the hell?

Corben slowly approached the house, lowering his firearm. It wouldn't do to let them think he was a hostile, his fight certainly wasn't with them, of all people, but he couldn't help walking closer for a better look. He had, like most other people, only seen them on the TV, and never in person before, but there was something very familiar about them...and for some reason, Superman had a beard! He didn't think aliens could grow beards, but obviously Superman could do anything, or so the people on the talk shows said. They were still arguing, although he couldn't hear what it was about, and they certainly didn't notice him beneath them. All of Corben's attention was focused upward, so he didn't notice the rising black bubbling out of the debris field within the ruined House.

"No!"

"Diana, for the last time, please think-"

Gunshots rang out, and a shout. Startled both Clark and Diana whirled about, realizing that they had let their distraction take away their attention from the _shoggoth_, which was now out again, and rapidly approaching someone on the ground, who was backing up rapidly, firing at it. As with the policemen's guns, it was having no effect.

"By Hera," Diana exclaimed. "John!"

**[Some action in this chapter. I find it very hard to write action, and writing it with the shoggoth in mind is even harder. They're not exactly action heros, they're just meant to drive people bonkers, but that would make this a very short fic indeed. Thanks again for all your reviews! Please keep them coming! Any action writers out there, I would welcome your advice too ;]**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

John Corben backpedaled rapidly, steadily firing his .45 at the monstrosity advancing on him. He had already expended one 10-round clip of hollowpoint bullets at it but it gave no sign of injury. He hadn't even slowed it down; it flowed relentlessly over the ground, its madly rolling eyes focused solely on its prey: him. It was even growing in size, rising higher and higher, finally towering over him like a wave's crest about to plunge back to the shore. Somehow he knew that there was nothing he could do that would affect the outcome – his luck had finally run out, here of all places, in this dipshit little Kansas town.

_I guess that asshole really did know how to translate that book, _Corben thought. _Not that it matters, anyway, now._

In his haste he stumbled, lost his balance, and fell down heavily. There would be no time to get back up before it was on top of him. Even knowing that it would be useless, he threw up his arm to block it, turning his face away from it.

Suddenly Corben felt something tighten around his wrist and fingers and pull him out of the way, just a split-second before the black wave crashed down on the ground where he had fell. He felt himself flying through the air, and collapsed on the ground, stunned. He stared at his arm, seeing a glowing golden cord looped about it. Yet what was the more astonishing sight was the famed Wonder Woman herself, standing next to him; she had jumped from the roof of the Red House to place herself between him and the monster. Corben felt his mind swim, seeing her up close like this, her long black hair flowing freely down her bare back and a sword in her hand. His first thought was that she was just like something out of a dream of ancient times. But there was something surprisingly familiar about her as well, and not just because he'd occasionally read about the Justice League on the news (privately he was rather suspicious of them, not trusting these questionable characters, and he knew many others who thought the same). With a shock he'd realized he'd seen her before, just a few hours earlier, and not on CNN.

_Mrs. Kent?_

As if she heard his thought she turned to face him, and he could see her full on. There was no doubt now, that this was Clark Kent's wife! But, how on earth…?

Diana could tell by the man's stunned expression that he recognized her; well, that could not be helped now. He had to be got out of harm's way, first. Before she could speak, Corben raised his arm and pointed, but not at her. At the same time she heard Clark's voice shouting in warning: "Diana!"

She spun around, simultaneously swinging her sword in a wide arc, severing a tentacle that spun out of the creature in an attempt to seize her. She felt the temperature around her abruptly drop, and then a strong gust of wind as Clark, hovering above them, tried to freeze the demon. The _shoggoth_ only paused and then it roiled and twisted about in irritation; the cold seemed to have no effect on it whatsoever. Was the cold somehow natural for it? No…she thought there could be nothing natural about this demon, she was sure of it. Again, Diana was reminded of stories of Tartarus, the lowest pit of the underworld, and she shivered. It could be from no other place than Hades itself!

"Kal-el!" She shouted. "We must move back!"

"Get him out of here, then!"

Another black appendage, one bristling with monstrous teeth and glowing greenish-red eyes, shot out towards him, groped about with intensity for him. He only narrowly avoided it. There seemed to be no end to the extrusions the thing could create. It also seemed to be getting faster, as if it was somehow understanding its enemies, and adapting to them, Clark thought. There was some kind of intelligence there, but whether it was truly sentient or not, he couldn't be sure.

Diana turned back to Corben but before she could react, she saw another coil of the monster whip around his ankle and yank him ferociously away from her. She barely had time to hang onto the Lasso as she heard Corben scream; only his grip and her hold on the Lasso kept him from being drawn into that foul thing.

"Hang on, John!" she cried out.

At the sound of her voice the _shoggoth's_ multiple eyes _swooshed_ in its globuleish mass towards her, and another tendril flung out of it; Diana bent fully 90 degrees backwards, narrowly avoiding its strike; she stabbed upward at it. It punctured the limb, and a viscous clear liquid splashed out of it before the the shoggoth pulled it back. Diana cried out in disgust as some of it landed on her corselet. In retaliation, perhaps, the _shoggoth_ pulled Corben harder and she felt the Lasso stripped from her hand, burning her palm. The golden Lasso whirling away from her towards the _shoggoth_.

"Help me!" Corben screamed. Diana dropped her sword and leapt for her Lasso with both hands, falling forwards on the muddy ground, water and muck splashing around her, but she regained her grip.

"Don't let go of the Lasso, John!" she shouted. The _shoggoth_ mercilessly held onto Corben's ankle; as Diana watched helplessly smaller strands were emerging from it and were now snaking around his lower leg and thigh, solidifying its hold. But Corben heard her and held on for life. Diana had the other end but Corben was becoming stretched in a hideous tug-of-war between the two.

"Clark!" Diana yelled desperately.

Clark tried to focus his heat vision on the point of contact of the coil that clung to Corben. Even as it burned and smoked, teeth materialized in the black surface of the coil and crunched down on Corben's leg viciously. Blood and bone crunched. Corben shrieked in agony.

"It's not going to work!" Diana shouted. "Grab him, quickly! I can't hold on much longer!"

Clark swooped down to Corben, but suddenly he felt a heavy blow land on his back and side. It felt as if he had been hit by an aircraft carrier. Clark felt himself hurled backwards with incredible force and speed. He slammed into one of the intact walls of the Red House, which disintegrated upon his impact. He tumbled down and lay sprawled in the rubble, momentarily dazed.

Diana saw her husband struck by a tentacle the size of a banyan tree, and sent flying back towards the house. Pain shot through her arms and hands as she tried to hang on, to pull Corben away. She looked up at him, saw his eyes glazed over in fear and shock; then the _shoggoth_, as if aggravated by the struggle its prey was demonstrating, finally ripped Corben away in another burst of energy; Corben lost his grip on the Lasso, along with two of his fingers in his panic to keep hold. Diana fell backwards, the golden rope falling back to her.

"No!" Diana shouted, struggling back to her feet. Then, once again, the pain in her side lanced through her body, and she fell to one knee, momentarily, her hand going to her side. She only had a glimpse of Corben being absorbed, falling _into_ the monster itself, engulfed in it as if drowning in a pool of night. She saw him for only a second, and then he was gone, sucked into the body of the demon itself, and then it was as if he had never been here at all. As if satisfied with its success and no longer interested in the fight, the _shoggoth_ moved away from her, undulating in a horribly swift and nimble manner. She uttered vile curses in Themysciran, but she knew there was nothing else she could do. She snatched up her sword, and ran to see to Clark, while its attention was diverted.

She raced back to the house and caught a glimpse of her husband's familiar red cape lying amidst the wreckage; she rushed to it, her heart pounding. Clark was still stunned, but rising slowly to his knees. "Are you injured" Diana demanded as she ran to him, her eyes looking over every inch of his body. She was relieved to see that he was not bloodied.

"No…no, I'm all right," He looked up and saw that Diana was alone. "Corben?" he asked.

"The demon took him, it pulled him into itself," Diana cursed again. "I could not stop it. It's going away from here."

Clark looked past her. He could hear the _shoggoth_ moving, the sound of its passage was like a low, deep throbbing, as if it were some kind of engine, but not of one created on earth. Could it be of extraterrestrial origin?

"We have to stop it," Clark said quickly. "If there's a chance Corben may not be dead..."

"I saw the demon devour him!"

"If there's any a chance at all, we have to help him," Clark looked at her. "He was a good soldier, a good man. I wrote a story about him for the _Planet_. I've got to try."

Diana hesitated, doubtful, but then nodded. "What is our plan?"

Clark thought for a quick moment; he knew that no matter what he said or did, Diana wouldn't listen to him about keeping away of this fight. That meant he would have to watch out for her, even more so than he always did, but it would be better still if he could be the one doing the fighting. As he saw her standing there, drenched by the rain and splattered with mud, still gripping her sword and lasso, a fierce light in her eyes, and still ready to fight that horror, he couldn't help but feel a peculiar sense of pride swelling his heart. If anything happened to her because of this…

Clark spoke imperatively. "We've got draw it back here, keep it occupied with tearing apart the rest of this damned house. We can't let it get too far away. I have a feeling that it wants something here. There has to be something here that attracts it, we just haven't found what it is yet."

"We should contact the Watchtower-"

"There's no time! We can't let it get as far as Smallville."

Even as her husband spoke she could hear trees and brush falling over, plowed down as the demon crushed everything in its path. It was moving away, but more slowly now, but there was a definite purpose in its movement. She spat on the ground, realized she could still taste blood in her mouth.

"But how will we destroy it?"

Clark looked at her sharply. He could hardly tell her he really didn't know; no doubt, she would try to take the initiative, and then really put herself in harm's way. But she was looking at him expectantly.

"It had to come from somewhere, it's certainly not a 'local,'" Clark muttered. "Whoever brought it here, might know. I just need to stop it long enough, trap it even, somehow, so that it doesn't get near the town."

"It came from Hades itself," Diana hissed. "Called up by the black magician who attacked me. If he is around here, I will find him."

"Diana," Clark warned. "Don't kill him, however much you want to. He might have the knowledge that we need to fight this thing. Will always was smart," he added unhappily. "Perhaps too smart for his own good, and whatever he's learned, and unleashed, I wonder if he can really control it."

Diana thought she understood. "Like Graves, perhaps. But what is his power?"

"We won't know unless we find him, and quickly," Clark replied. Suddenly his attention turned to the clock-tower behind them, and she could tell he was listening for something. She couldn't hear anything, but she knew that his hearing was better than hers. _Slightly_ better.

"What do you hear?" she whispered.

"There's somebody, something moving inside there, by the clock-tower, or inside it. I can't see anything definite."

"Will," Diana's eyes narrowed, anger suffusing her features. "It must be him. I will flush him out."

"I will try to trap the monster then," Clark didn't want her out of his sight for a minute, but he couldn't be in two places at once – he had to prevent the monster from leaving the immediate area and terrorizing the rest of Smallville. He didn't want to think of what might happen if it got to the farms and neighborhoods. "Use your Lasso to hold Will for the moment, until I come back."

"To Hades with the cur!" Diana insisted. "I will join you after!"

"Stay here! That's an order!" commanded Clark, and he flew off in the direction of the monster before she could protest.

Diana slammed her fist against her thigh in fury; how dare he order her about! She would have to make sure he did not turn into a patriarchal husband. But first she would hunt down the beast who injured her. She would listen to Clark and not kill him, but she would make certain that Will would lose the capacity to hurt anyone else, permanently.

* * *

Clark followed the trail of the monster, seeing from the flattened ground it left, like the track of a snail, that it was growing in width as well. How big could it possibly get? He shuddered to think of a giant blob of black jelly sucking in farms and animals and people. He tried to think of anything that could help him stop it, the weather, or the terrain. It was still raining; while the rain did not chill him or slow him down, he wondered what effect it might have on the thing. The area around here was unique, in that it consisted of a short growth of woods, lined with small gullies and ponds; there were even small caves that were once used by Native Americans, centuries ago. If he could somehow lure it into one of those, or even a depression in the ground…

_Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

Clark heard it, and drew up, seeing the black mass rear up in front of him. Its unearthly voice was shrill and eldritch, and the very sound of it hurt his ears. He wondered if it had said the same words the first time he had encountered it. He couldn't remember, and that was likely a good thing that he couldn't. What was it saying? Was it a threat, or a warning? Was it trying to talk to him? It did not seem to be able to say anything else. It was unlike any language he had ever heard. But if it had a voice, if it was trying to talk, perhaps he could communicate with it, find out what it wanted, or if it could be dissuaded from its attack. He did not hope yet that he could reason with it.

Clark shot past it, and dropped down in front of its path. The eyes, which had been looking in every direction, all became focused on him, becoming almost comically cross-eyed in its focus on the small thing in its path. Here it was, after all these years, and he was hovering in front of it. It hadn't slowed its pace, but continued to flow effortlessly along the ground, pulling itself along by multiple extensions of its protoplasmic body, which swelled and rose and sank so that watching it was like trying to watch the movements of the ocean. Its teeth continued to gnash and slaver and chomp, mindlessly. If it recognized him, he couldn't tell from its expression, of which he could see nothing of feeling or emotion. He could see nothing but a black and endless emptiness that threatened to bring his childhood terror screaming back to him, but then he thought of his father.

Clark wondered if his father Jonathan had ever actually seen it as he was seeing it now. He must have had, or at least a part of it. He remembered the photograph from the library, in which he had seen his dad brandishing a shotgun, standing together with a group of other scared and grim-faced men. Whatever they had known of this thing, if anything, they had banded together and had tried to fight it, he was certain of it. How had they managed to stop it? But they did fight it, of that he was certain. They did stop it. If they could do it, then there was a chance for him.

"Stop!" Clark shouted. "What do you want here? Talk to me!"

_Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

Nothing but that maddening cry. It wasn't trying to communicate. Clark knew then that he had no other choice than to try to battle it again. He shot up into the air, until he could see the black rim of space, then he turned and flew back straight down, his fists held in front of him, fast, faster. The ground rushed up at him, and he braced himself as he hit the ground directly in front of the _shoggoth_. A geyser of soft black dirt erupted into the air, displaced from the giant crater he had created. The _shoggoth_ had not stopped moving, and before it possibly realized it, it was tipping over into the huge crater. Clark looked up from its bottom, seeing the thing tumble down into it, towards him. He rose up to avoid being crushed by its fall but the _shoggoth_ saw him there. A massive tendril sliced through the air and knocked him back down at the crater's edge. Stunned, he rolled before it fell back on top of him. Something struck him in the side, and he felt himself falling downwards again. The sound of its voice was louder in his ears. He felt his legs sinking into something soft and thick, and in horror he tried to fly up, felt his hands scrabbling at the mud walls of the crater. The _shoggoth_ was still falling on top of him, it was reaching out for him even was he was trying to escape from being trapped in the crater with it.

_Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

Clark turned, his eyes blazing, and two glittering globules exploded a foot from his face, splatting him with its oily fluid. Eyes surrounded him, mouths, crying out that same repeating call, but it drew back. Crying out now, Clark pulled himself out of the crater, and rolled as far away from the edge as he could, just as the rest of the thing tumbled down into the pit. Whipping tentatcle-like protrusions flung up into the air, searching, groping for him, but he scrambled away from them. Clark hoped that it would buy him at least a few minutes in which to think again. The crater was at least as deep as a football field - perhaps the seismologists at the state college would register a minor earthquake, Clark wondered. His felt his mind growing dizzy and far away, in his head he could still hear that faint piping cry but he wasn't sure if it was his mind or if the thing was still crying out. He stood at the edge of the crater, looking down at the thing in the pit for a moment. Then he felt something strike his head, and everything went black.

* * *

Diana dropped down into the open pit of the Red House; this part of the mansion was completely demolished, the remarkable curling staircase split in half lying on the ground. Carefully, she made her way through the twisted debris. The clock-tower was a separate attachment to the house, and situated towards the western side which was still standing and intact. Diana had seen such structures in other places in Man's World, but this was one was on a much smaller scale. She knew that the interior was likely to be hollow, or perhaps had rooms within for storage. Perhaps Will had fled within. He would not have the element of surprise this time. She would be ready for him, and then he would wish that he had succeeded in killing her the first time!

However, it was her warrior's instinct to remain cautious and alert, and she carefully picked her way through the debris and ruins until she was within the intact side of the Red House. As she entered deeper into the Red House she noticed that it became darker, the walls and roof shielding both from the rain and the thin sunlight that penetrated the stormclouds. She sheathed her sword to her thigh, unhooked her Lasso instead and held it in both hands. She could see well even in the gloom, and her senses were still finely attuned to her surroundings; she knew there was a presence here. Straight ahead of her she could see the solid square door that opened into the clock-tower, set into the brick wall. Around her were the remains of what was probably the big kitchen. Empty shelves and cabinets littered the floor, toppled over. She realized she had never actually been within the Red House itself. Even in its decayed and destroyed state, she knew that this was a place where evil magick had once been done. Perhaps the clock-tower had once been a place for the summoning of evil spirits. Perhaps Will had done the same here. She would have to be careful now.

Diana slowly approached the closed door, fully expecting to see Will any second, waiting for him to try to attack her a second time. Her fists clenched at the thought. She paused a moment, she thought, no she was certain that she heard movement beyond the door. So he was hiding in the clock-tower. She crouched low in fighting-stance, prepared to strike instantly. She was almost there. Slowly, quietly as possible, she edged around the door, pressed herself against the wall. She didn't want to alert him to her presence, and so escape her vengeance. The door had an old-fashioned latch, and she reached for it, then a sudden _boom! _shook the house and the ground, like an earthquake. Was that Clark fighting? Her hand slipped on the latch, just as it caught, and the door swung wide open. Someone rushed out at her.

Surprised, Diana lunged forward with a knifehand strike, but it was expertly blocked – she felt her bracelet clang on something metal and then felt herself countering a powerful return blow. Then the figure pushed her hard, and she went flying backwards, but she landed on her hands and feet and flipped back to regain her fighting stance. She was stunned to see that her opponent was a figure clad in a golden breastplate and armored skirt, legs sheathed in greaves, her face hidden by a high-crested Corinthian-style helmet. In one hand she held the round _aspis_ shield, so familiar to her through years of training, and in the other a 7-foot-tall golden spear.

"I heard your approach like a thundering elephant," the voice within the helm boomed. "What has happened to your element of surprise?"

Diana stared at the warrior. "Gorgo!"

**[The battle continues! Gorgo is now in the mix, but what - or who - has she come to fight? Is this really the end of Corben? What's happened to Clark? Stay tuned for our next episode! And thank you for all your reviews, I am deeply touched by your complements and advice, please keep them coming! And now a word from our sponsor - Ovaltine! Just kidding, I have no idea if that's even still around ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Diana stared in astonishment upon seeing Lady Gorgo; she was the last person she expected to see in this horrific place. The older Amazon pushed her helm back on her head, revealing her aged but strong, lined features. Strands of her faded blonde hair poked through the bands of the headwrap she wore as padding underneath her metal helmet. She looked just as Diana remembered, clad in full armor and bearing her familiar weapons, in the broad and dusty practice yard in Themyscira, where she had first been taught the arts of war. Diana had expected Will Richardson to come leaping out at her from the doorway of the clock-tower, to try to kill her again. She had been ready for him but it was Gorgo instead who had deflected her attack.

"Diana, child, I believe your skills may be getting rusty, after all this time minding the hearth-and-home for your man," the senior Amazon said dryly, with only a slight touch of sarcasm. "You are in sore need of extra practice. Smallville is not the home for warriors."

"Gorgo," Diana gasped. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I should be asking the same of you, my child," Gorgo said calmly, looking around the ruins of the Red House. "But I can see you are in need of another arm in the fight you now find yourself in. I suppose I should not be surprised you have found one. This one, however-"

Diana was still confused. "You came back here…because of our battle against this demon?"

Gorgo walked past a still-stunned Diana, peering out the shattered walls, listening carefully. In the distance came loud and indeterminate sounds, sounds uncommon to this rural area. She frowned slightly. "No, I came back because of you," she replied bluntly. "You just happened to be in a fight when I found you…as usual. First, I returned to your farmstead, but you were not there," Gorgo looked back at her. "What were you looking for in this house?"

Diana suddenly remembered her objective. "A man, an evil man has raised a demon here, unlike anything we've ever seen before!"

"It is no demon," Gorgo corrected her sharply. "It is worse. It is an abomination, something summoned from the depths of time, from the frozen wastes of Man's World. It should not be, but it is. It _is_. Whoever has done this must be a very dark and evil man, indeed."

"Will Richardson," Diana spat out.

Gorgo looked puzzled. "Who?"

"The 'dark man' you speak of, he is the one I am searching for in this house. He is a black magician of some kind, and he attacked me and Clark. He summoned the monster, he called it a _shoggoth_…"

"Do not speak its name!" The alarm and fear in Gorgo's voice immediately silenced Diana. "As I said, this is an evil that should never have been brought back to see the light of day. Not even its name should ever be spoken aloud. But this Will is not 'the dark man' I am speaking of, he is only a fool, and will come to a fool's end. We waste time here. We must go confront this abomination and try to stop it." The elder Amazon pushed her helmet back down over her face.

Diana was still confused. Something was not quite right. "Wait…I need to find Will."

"There is no one else here. I have already searched this house. He will be where the abomination is. He is _one_ with it."

"I...I don't understand," Diana stammered. "How do you know all this? You say you came to see me, but how did you know I was here?"

Gorgo looked away, again. "I...heard the noises of battle, heard the abomination's terrible voice. I did not want to follow that hideous sound to its source, because I dared not think what could make that sound, and did not want to believe that I heard them here. Yes, I was fearful. There are stories, my child, old stories that only the oldest of the elders know. They are not stories to be told to children, or even around the hearth, of what horrible things lurk in the bowels and secret places of Man's World," Gorgo shuddered. "Then, I saw policemen arriving to investigate, their ridiculous noisy sirens blaring. It would surely have drawn the abomination to them. I saw to them."

"You didn't hurt them!"

"Hmph. Of course not. They are 'indisposed.' The important thing is that they are out of the way, it is better for them. They have no means to fight the abomination."

Diana shook her head, something was still amiss. "But you are dressed for battle…" Diana then noticed for the first time the singularly tall spear Gorgo carried in her right hand. It was no ordinary spear. Its wide, pointed tip was set in a socket surrounded by six sharp barbs. With a shock, she recognized it as one of Themysicra's magicked weapons. She had never imagined to see one out of the Sacred Armory, off the Isle. "You bear the Spear of Scáthach," Diana wondered in amazement. "You brought this great weapon with you, but you didn't know of the monster...?"

Gorgo looked at Diana with eyes hidden behind her helmet, but said nothing.

Diana thought she understood, and stiffened in dismay. "You…you are planning to take me back to Themyscira," she realized slowly. "You would fight me if I resist?"

"The Queen Hippolyta insists upon your return to Paradise Island to explain your recent actions before her, your hasty decision to leave Man's City, and your 'marriage.' She expects you to obey, as her subject and as her daughter," Gorgo replied. Diana thought she heard a note of triumph in Gorgo's otherwise impassive voice. "I am only to serve as your escort…and to ensure that _none_ dare interfere with your return journey home."

Diana felt her blood run cold as she finally understood. "You…no! You wouldn't dare!" she cried.

"You may not believe me, my child, but I truly have no desire to harm your husband, man though he is. But if he threatens me, or you, once he learns of your return to Themyscira, I will not hesitate to engage in battle with him."

"You will not, you cannot harm him!" Diana felt herself shake, whether in anger or shock or both, at Gorgo's words, even she was uncertain. "Clark would never harm me."

Gorgo was indifferent to Diana's consternation, as if she had heard this protest countless times before in the past. "In Man's World, it is common knowledge that the husband is likely to murder his wife, once he learns that she will leave him," she said, as if instructing a naïve child. "My mission is to protect you, should he attempt to behave as is the custom here."

Diana was so outraged at Gorgo's outrageous misunderstanding of the relationship between her and her husband that she could barely speak, but the obstinate old Amazon warrior was no longer listening to her. She hefted her shield and spear and turned to her.

"Come! We are wasting time here. Your husband is fighting the abomination alone. Without aid, he will not prevail."

Gorgo ran outside, Diana following closely behind, drawing her sword. "I would think you would prefer him dead then, at the hands of the demon," Diana said bitterly.

"As I told you before, child, it is not a demon. It is an abomination. And I would not want to see any living thing destroyed by it in its manner, whether woman or man," Gorgo insisted. "If we do not stop it, here, then all life will be in danger!"

* * *

**[Very short chapter this time! Just wanted to throw in the bit with Lady Gorgo before the big climatic battle (this is the time to go heat up the popcorn). Gorgo is really becoming a pill isn't she? As if Clark and Diana didn't have enough hassles! Hippolyta may be worse though, but that will be in a sequel, maybe. Gorgo's spear, the spear of Scathach, is a spear from Irish mythology. Scathach was a Scottish warrior woman and martial artist who created a spear called the Gae Bulg for use by the Irish hero Cuichulainn - thank you Wikipedia! There are apparently lots of great warrior women in Celtic mythology, wouldn't it be great for Diana to meet some, maybe in another sequel :) Anyway, enjoy this short bit and thank you again for all the reviews :) ]**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Clark clawed his way out of the muddy high walls of the crater he'd made, the eerie piping call of the thing rising behind and beneath him, its multiple black coils groping for him as he scrambled out of their way. The unnerving sound of its voice – if it was a voice at all - was benumbing his mind, and all he could think, for a second, was to flee from it once again. Yet he knew that just tipping it over into the crater, as deep as it was, wasn't going to stop it for long; it would get out again, and then it would roll over and crush all of Smallville under its amorphous alien mass. Then, once Smallville was all gone, it would move on, consuming even Metropolis, all the time growing and growing and growing…all the while that eldritch and inhuman voice ringing out…filling the world with its maddening mindless call…

_Get ahold of yourself, Smallville! You're not making any sense!_

Curiously, Lois Lane's disembodied, scolding voice cleared Clark's mind. He managed to get to his feet, his wet black hair dripping in his face. He could hear it in the crater sloshing about still, but it had stopped making that hideous sound at least. For a moment it was virtually silent again in the woods, as if a blessed normality had returned, only what was normal had now become the unnerving. He looked up at the sky, drizzling rain falling on his upturned face. The sun's rays were feebly trying to poke through the thunderclouds. He had to think rationally…he must use this time to think of a plan…

Clark heard a faint buzzing noise, but was that in his head, or a new sound from the thing in the crater? Suddenly he felt something strike his head from behind, and everything went black.

* * *

Diana and Gorgo leapt into the clearing made by the thing's passage; they could follow it by the trail it left on the ground, a pale and blasted path swept clean of all living things, even the rocks and undergrowth were stripped and scorched bare. Diana looked around frantically for any sign of her husband, but she saw no one, heard no sounds of struggle. Gorgo pointed with her spear in the direction of the path. "The abomination has gone deeper into the woods. It searches for fresh victims."

"Clark must be fighting it there!" Diana said, but Gorgo laid a hand on her arm before she could follow.

"You must be prepared to face the worst, child," The older Amazon advised her, her voice full of the weight of her years. "He may already have fallen to it."

Diana shrugged off her teacher's arm. "I am prepared to face anything," she replied crossly. "But I do not have to hear how much you wish it to be so."

Without waiting for Gorgo, she ran down the devastated path, not wanting to delay another second. The elder Amazon followed after, unwilling to let her former pupil out of her sight again.

* * *

The blackness…

The silence was dark and vast, just like a deep Olympic-sized pool of deepness. Clark felt himself floating in it. He thought he could actually _feel_ the darkness surrounding him, enveloping him like a heavy and wet woolen blanket. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling at all. He felt he should let himself relax into it, like going back into the womb…but there seemed to be something else in here with him. Another presence? No….it was more like a memory, a tangible memory…but the memories couldn't be his…could it? He was sure there was someone else in here with him, and he felt like he could almost touch it…it was a definite something. The first thought that came to his mind was:

_Pa?_

Clark felt as if he were back in his dreams, only the dreams were no longer frightening. This time, the dreams were full of knowing, he only had to reach out and access it, and he could have it...

_Pa…where are you?_

There was a faint luminescence in the darkness, slowly coalescing, and taking form, like a Polaroid photograph. Then it turned into a familiar image: he could see his father, Jonathan Kent, almost as clearly as if he were still alive, as if he and Ma had not been killed by that sleeping semi-truck driver on a lonely highway outside of Smallville. But it wasn't Pa as he was the last Clark saw him; this was a much younger version of his father, perhaps when he was about 43, not yet old but strong and flinty, and whipcord-thin. His weathered face was stern and foreboding, like that of a master sergeant leading troops into combat. He held a Remington shotgun in his hand.

Then Clark heard his Pa speak: _"What's the plan, Doc?"_

There was a pause, as someone Clark couldn't see or hear replied to his father, and then his Pa reacted angrily, which was a rare sight to see.

"_I don't care if it is, Doc! I need to find my boy! And I'll be damned if I'm going to wait here while others look for him!" _

Clark saw other men standing with his Pa, but their shapes were vague - Pa was the only one he could see clearly. He tried calling out to him, to tell him he was okay, that he was right here, but he couldn't, he had no voice. He felt as if something was choking him, only it didn't hurt. There was that strange buzzing sound again, the one he had heard before. It sounded as if a hairclipper was trying to talk. He couldn't tell where it came from, but he didn't care, he only wanted to hear his father's voice again…

As if in response, another image came. He saw his Pa, only this time he was with a group of other men, the same men from the photograph in the library. He saw Old Man Johnson among them, and they all had the same feverish and frightened look. They were all carrying shotguns or rifles, and lanterns because it was night. They were all looking at him now, and in their faces he could see pure, naked terror, their fear was seared right into their eyes. They were too shocked to even raise their guns in defense, because they already knew it would be hopeless. Clark was stunned – why were they looking at him like that? They were looking up at him, so he must be hovering in the air, that meant he must be Superman now. He could save them from whatever was threatening them...but it surely couldn't be _him_ that they were frightened of, could it? He wanted to shout out to his father, to those men, that he meant them no harm, he was there to help. He only wanted to help, not use his powers to hurt people. But he wasn't Superman back then…when his Pa and the other had gone to the Red House…so why were they staring at him like that?

Because they weren't looking at him...they were looking at the Red House. Thy were looking past him, at _what_ was in the Red House. What _was_…

Dear God…oh dear Rao, it was the _thing_ that they were looking at, and then the word came to him, as if he heard it somewhere before...

_Shoggoth_.

They were looking at the _shoggoth_, and he was looking back at them through _its_ eyes…_he was seeing through its eyes. _And its mind…he felt its mind, it was trying to probe his, but he resisted it.

He heard the men shouting and yelling, and then above their frantic voices, another man's voice, high and loud, chanting in a strange language he had never heard before. It overwhelmed the others, until it rang in his ears, and shattered his vision. Clark struggled, but it was like swimming in tar, there was pressure all about him, threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn't breathe; he didn't know how he was still alive. It was holding him, tightly, the presence that he first felt, now it was everywhere around him. It was trying to put other pictures in his mind now. His Pa and the other men vanished, and in its place he saw cyclopean structures, vast and ancient and cold, a myriad of strange shapes and forms, and above it all, an even more alien and malevolent presence, watching him...

_Let me go! _His mind screamed.

Clark felt something tugging on his chest, and he flailed as hard as he could, grabbing at it, his hands clutching at the alien flesh he felt around him. Then the tugging intensified a hundredfold and he felt himself drawn up and out, _expelled_ from it, and then the blinding yellow light of Earth's sun hit his eyes, his skin. He coughed forcefully as he crashed to the ground, the golden Lasso pulling him away, out of the body of the _shoggoth_, pulling him up and out clear of the pit. Dear Rao, he had been trapped _in_ the thing, _it had swallowed him alive_…

With a sickening groan, Clark retched on his hands and knees, pieces of dark gelatinous matter mixed in with whatever was in him internally that he could push out of his system. He nearly choked with the force of his heaving, his hands clutching the earth, digging deep furrows into it.

"Clark!" Diana shouted and ran to him, unlooping the Lasso from his chest, swiftly rubbing the horrid viscous matter – the same matter that was on the murdered policemen – off his suit ad body. They puddled on the ground, and smoked where they touched the blasted soil. Clark vomited again, but nothing more came out. He wiped his eyes, ran his hand through his soggy hair. How close had he come to ending up like those policemen? What had struck him from behind?

"Thank the gods you are still alive!" Diana said, feeling like she was able to breathe again. When she and Gorgo had come across the crater she had caught a glimpse of Clark's unconscious body against the black hide of the creature, just before it was subsumed completely. If she had been even a few seconds later...she feared even to think.

"Diana," he gasped hoarsely when he could speak again. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay back!"

"So it appears you do order your wife about, Superman," a voice said above him. "I must say I'm not surprised."

Startled, Clark glanced up from the ground and saw a figure that could have come straight from ancient Greece, standing in front of him. He couldn't see her face clearly, concealed by its high-plumed helmet. Who on earth? Then he saw Diana's look of fury and then he recognized Diana's Amazon visitor. "Lady Gorgo, isn't it?"

"If the Princess and I had not arrived when we did, you would have been devoured by the abomination in its unspeakable manner, your head separated from your body like those unfortunate men by the ruined house," Gorgo replied. She looked as if she might not consider that an unwelcome outcome.

Clark turned to Diana, who managed to look both relieved and chagrined at the same time. "Gorgo has come to fight alongside us," she muttered. "There is no time to explain."

Clark got back on his feet, Diana holding onto his arm protectively, concern written over her face. He struggled to find words, his throat still hoarse from retching.

"Diana, I was…when I was trapped in it, I could hear it. I could see through its eyes, and I think it showed me where it came from…"

Just then Gorgo aimed her spear at Clark's throat. Alarmed, Diana's sword flashed forward, so that the flat of her blade blocked the sharp leaf-shaped spear-tip.

"I warn you Gorgo," Diana said in a low voice. "You will not harm my husband."

"Do no be deceived by the abomination, nor speak its name aloud, man," Gorgo seemed to be unmoved by whatever she said. "Its knowledge is not to be known."

Clark pushed away both Diana's sword and the spear; he had no time for this! "How do you know of it?" he demanded. "It's alive, but-"

"It is not alive. Such a definition cannot be used of this abomination. It is not a living thing; it is a weapon, created by an ancient race full of evil intent for all other life forms. It is a leftover from the dawn of time and creation..."

Clark was getting fed up with the old Amazon. "If you know how to stop it, just say so!"

In response, Gorgo held up her spear.

"This!" she proclaimed. "The Spear of Scáthach! A weapon of powerful magick, brought from distant Hibernia to Themyscira by the great warrior herself, thousands of years ago. This, if anything, may help us, not your clumsy blows!"

To Clark, it just looked like an ordinary spear, although with an unusually shaped spearhead. But Diana was nodding in agreement with the old lady's words. He was rather more curious about why Gorgo was here, and from the way Diana clung to him, he thought he had a good idea why. He had his doubts about this entire "magick" stuff, but if it worked, no matter what it was called, that was all that he cared about.

"What are you planning to do, just throw it at the thing?" Clark shook his head doubtfully. "I'm going to guess you've never fought anything like this before either, have you, my lady?"

Gorgo glared at him from underneath her helmet, and he knew he guessed correctly. Even now, he couldn't help but make a little dig at her, for the way he knew she treated Diana. "So you _really_ don't know how to fight this thing either, then. Stay behind me, madam, and maybe you wont get hurt!"

Clark whirled around, facing the pit again prepared to fight. He thought he could feel Gorgo's eyes doing their best to burn a hole in his back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Diana and winked at her. She barely stifled a laugh. That was good, if she could still feel like that even here…then they felt the ground rumbling beneath their feet, and his expression grew harsh again.

The thing that Gorgo called an abomination exploded from the crater, several dozens of flying strands of iridescent black-and-green tentacles grasping at the trees all around them as it pulled its amorphous mass forcefully up out of the hole; as Clark had guessed, it just wasn't deep enough to stop it for long. Its multiple eyes rolled throughout its body, searching in all directions for anything movng. Beside him, Clark saw Diana grip her sword tighter, prepared for whatever it might do next. Clark rose to fly into the air, but suddenly felt himself knocked unexpectedly backwards by a blow from Gorgo's great _aspis_ shield; stunned, he lost his momentum and fell back against Diana, who caught him as he tumbled back to earth.

"Out of my way, boy!"

With an earth-shaking battle-roar, Gorgo launched into the air holding the Spear aloft; as both Clark and Diana watched astounded she actually landed on the _shoggoth_, on top of what might be called its head, or at least the center of its shifting bulk of protoplasm. "Gorgo!" Clark shouted.

Raising the Spear of Scáthach high, with all her strength she drove it straight down at the writhing mass of black tentacles and teeth. The spear-tip hit one of its eyes dead on, pierced it through, and then the six smaller barbs surrounding the tip flashed with a light of their own and sprung outwards, circling around the _shoggoth_, and then homed in, striking the thing in every direction. The _shoggoth_ reared upward, with an intense high-pitched screech at this unexpected attack.

_Tekeli-liiiiiiiiii!_

Clark saw that the Spear and its barbs stayed stuck in the creature instead of being absorbed into it; they were vibrating under their own power, distorting the area around the points of impact, which were turning a pale fishy white instead of its nominal darkish green color. Suddenly Clark realized what it was doing.

"It's a molecular disruption weapon!" Clark exclaimed in amazement. "It's attacking the alien's genetic structure!"

"Then we've got it!" Diana yelled to Clark over the noise of the thing's distress. "It is time to finish it!"

But as Clark watched, he saw that the _shoggoth_ wasn't slowing down at all, it was still moving. Gorgo was still atop it, trying to drive the magicked Spear deeper into its body, but she was straining to hold on. A protrusion shot out from the thing and tried to strike her, but she threw up her shield. As soon as she did so, the tentacle avoided her; Clark didn't understand why at first. Then he saw the design scrawled on the surface of her shield. What was it? It looked something like a broken branch...

Suddenly he realized Diana was rushing at the _shoggoth_, her sword upraised, coming to her fellow Amazon's aid. He reached out for her, but just barely missed her. "No, Diana, wait!"

The detoured tentacle flung itself towards Diana, targeting her instead of its original target, like a heatseeking missile. She swung her sword and cut it sharply, but it split widely in two and was coming together in a flanking movement to encircle and crush her, its sharp sets of teeth flashing. Clark rushed in fast and pushed her out of the way, taking on instead the force of its impact. The _shoggoth's_ mandibles crunched on his torso and back and groin, partially piercing his suit, blood spurting from the wounds. It stopped him cold and swung him up off his feet even as he tore off part of the whiplike coil and flung it from him; Diana saw everything; she jumped for him and with a battle-cry swung again and again at the black coil that still held him tight in his jaws, slashing through eyes and mouths over and over again. It maddened her that it resisted letting go and she redoubled her blows, going into a battle-frenzy. The _shoggoth_ swung both of them up, and then flung them down back to the earth, just as she and Clark succeeded in freeing themselves from its grip. Diana felt herself falling only a moment, then she felt the impact of her striking the ground softened by Clark's body – he had rolled so that he would hit the ground first, she landing on top of him. Dazed, she rolled off his body and struggled to rise to her knees. The pain in her side was aching now, and she pressed her hand to the wound. She felt the blood seeping through her corselet - she had torn her wound open. Dismayed, she saw blood streaking her legs and arms, but the blood was not her own. Clark was also struggling to get up, his suit torn where the _shoggoth's_ teeth had laid him open, and he was bleeding profusely, his face contorted in agony.

The thing flung more of its gnashing jaws at them.

"Princess! To you!"

Gorgo flung her shield towards Diana and she caught it with both hands, just in time to shield both herself and Clark beneath it; the weight of the _shoggoth_ bore down on them, and then veered off at the last minute, repelled by the _aspis_. Diana crouched low beneath its concave bowl, seeing the glistening black-and-green skin of the _shoggoth_ split away from where she and her husband were sheltering under it…and sought out the other, now-defenseless Amazon.

Clark saw it too, from where he lay prostrate on the ground. "Diana," he gasped.

"Gorgo!" Diana cried out in warning and flung the shield back, but to no avail. A whipping lash of the abomination curled about her teacher before she could retrieve the shield. It tightened around her waist and flung her up high in the air, swinging the body of the old warrior about, then the thing swung her against the trees behind it, smashing through them like toothpicks. Diana could hear the horrid crunching noise Gorgo's body made as it struck them, crushing her bones. She made no cry. The _shoggoth_ then flung the body away from it, as if revolted by the barely-living flesh it was holding.

"_NO!"_

She ran to her fallen teacher's aid, but already she could see the mortal injury she had sustained. The elder Amazon lay like a broken doll upon the wet earth, her limbs crushed and mangled, her body twisted in a way human anatomy never intended. There was no possibility she could survive those wounds, even if they were in Themyscira at the steps of the House of Healing. Diana flung herself to her knees by her side, in shock. She had never seen her old teacher injured. Now here she was, lying in the wet muck, her spine broken. Her hands shaking, as carefully as she could she pulled the cracked helmet off her head, and cupped her face, afraid to even touch her lest she add to her pain. Gorgo's face was deathly pale, blood trickling from her mouth, her ears.

"Gorgo! Gorgo…gods, no…" Diana could barely speak, overwhelmed by grief.

Incredibly, the old woman's eyes fluttered, then opened. They were unfocused, already growing dim, but she whispered, "Diana?"

"I'm here," Diana choked out the words. "I'm here. I'll help you, get you to safety-"

"No…child," Gorgo's voice was barely audible. "My…time…over. My Princess…return…your sisters…home. I…also," her voice faltered. "Promise…me…"

"I'll take you back to Paradise Island," Diana vowed. She blinked rapidly, tears obscuring her vision. "I swear it!"

But Gorgo seemed past hearing her. Her eyes clouded over, but Diana heard her final words, spoken as if remembering a long-ago dream.

"I…was there…your first steps…your…dear mother…so proud…"

Gorgo's head slumped ever so slightly forward, and she was gone. There was nothing left before her except an uninhabited shell.

Diana raised her voice to the heavens and screamed, the pain in her side flaring again and stronger this time, yet louder still, she cried out. But the gods did not come – perhaps they no longer heard, or cared. Perhaps they too saw the abomination, and turned their faces away, leaving them to their fate. It was no use to lament. Quietly Diana stood up - it was an effort to do so - and turned around. The Spear had not stopped the_ shoggoth_; if it had been weakened, she could not tell. The abomination rose immense among the trees, swaying slowly, its mouths gaping like beached fish, its eyes stupidly gazing at everything and nothing. It seemed to be waiting, for something, as if it suspected what she was about to do. She saw Clark, her husband, lying on his side; he had fallen back on the ground, still struggling mightily to try to stand and fight. She could see his face, his rage at his helplessness, blood dripping from a dozen wounds on his body. Strangely, although she wanted to run to him, she felt frozen in place. She knew what she had to do.

_But if you do this…_

Slowly and deliberately, Diana slipped off her right bracelet, and it fell to the ground, its weight half burying it in the mud. As she grasped her left one, she hesitated a moment, but only because it was hard to see, because her eyes were stinging with tears.

_Clark…Kal-el...my love, oh, my husband, forgive me. Forgive me. I don't know…our baby…what will happen to our baby if I do this…_

Her hand shook as she touched the remaining bracelet on her wrist. No…she couldn't do this. She was remembering his face that night when she told him about the baby for the first time, his look of unutterable joy and pride, but now…no, there was no other choice, really. Clark was badly injured, and so was she. Gorgo was dead, and so were others. She stared at the horror before them, seeing it rise to blot out the sun that was trying to emerge from the dark clouds. She didn't know if even the power of Zeus could stop such an abomination as this, but she had to try. Otherwise they, and so many more others, would likely die.

_Our baby._

Their last chance. No choice.

With a slight tug, the last bracelet came off. Now, she was free. She could barely stand, but it didn't matter now.

Her eyes going white, her hair flying behind her, the air around her crackling with unearthly power, she faced the _shoggoth_ for the last time…

* * *

**[Poor Gorgo. The battle is drawing to a close, but will our heroes survive? You must stay tuned to find out! Who will survive? Who won't? Will there be a surprise guest appearance? Maybe! Do you have suggestions for how this should end? Thank you for reading this story and for all the great reviews! Please keep them rolling in. I hope this will tide you over until the next JL issue! Next chapter may or may not be up by then!]**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Clark's mind swum back away from unconsciousness; he struggled mightily to get back on his feet but his muscles and nerves wouldn't obey him. Dazed, he guessed that he was bleeding from at least a half a dozen puncture wounds in his back and legs where the _shoggoth_ had bitten him, its teeth had actually pierced through his suit and into his flesh. His skin was usually invulnerable to anything on this world, but this thing had proven itself something utterly incomparable to anything he had faced before - whatever could penetrate his defenses, he was certain, was certainly not native to this planet, or possibly anywhere else in the solar system at the least. His body would eventually heal (he hoped, at least) but it was taking so slowly, for some reason. He couldn't even stand up; it felt like his groin was on fire, and not in a good way. One of the creature's unnatural razoring fangs had come within an inch of severing his future marital relations.

Clark braced himself onto his hands and knees and saw his blood mixing with the water and mud. He ignored it and looked around frantically. "Diana!" he cried out. Even shouting was another effort now.

He felt the air cracking with energy around him and wondered if it an electrical storm was coming, on top of everything else. Then he saw her, and his mouth dropped open, stunned.

She now barely looked human; she was more like an apparition from a nightmarish legend of a vengeful goddess. Her long black hair was flying stiffly back behind her, and her eyes had rolled back in her head, showing only the whites. Her arms were outstretched, and bolts of bluish-white fire were crackling between them. She was directly facing the _shoggoth_, which in its turn seemed to be aware of her transformation; every single one of its eyes were rolling forward to look at her, and the light show she was producing. He noticed she was no longer wearing her cuffs.

Clark realized what she was doing; he had never seen it before, but she had told him of her power: that when she took off her bracelets, she was able to command the strength of her birth-father, her absent father, the being that she called Zeus. He had not understood until now, what that really meant. Now, he could feel the unearthly energy all around him, and he knew that it was uncontrollable even by her.

"Diana!" Clark shouted, but she was beyond hearing him. However, there was no doubt what she was going to do. But he couldn't allow her to do this, it might kill her, and the life growing within her as well. Ignoring the pain, he rose into the air, but Diana didn't see him, or take any notice of him at all. Then a flash of light dazzled Clark, and he felt himself tossed backwards as if pushed by hurricane-force winds. He heard the _shoggoth_ resume its maddening piping call: _Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

Clark reversed his out-of-control tumble and sped towards the creature; he understood that Diana had already engaged with it. Bolts of blue-white lightning crashed all around him, and instinct warned him to avoid being hit by them. He flew around the wild flashes of light, and hit the _shoggoth_ dead on, his fists smashing one of its hideous purplish-veined eyes and its gawping mandibles, splitting away from his knuckles. Around him the Olympian coruscation flashed even more brighter and enveloped the entire area. He could hardly see, but the black monstrosity under him stubbornly refused to give way. He knew he had only seconds before the thing under him would react and retaliate against this little form bothering it.

"Diana!" he bellowed again, but he could not be heard over the roar of the storm and the echoing call of the _shoggoth_, much higher pitched now in response to Diana's attack: _Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!_

Indeed, he didn't know if she could even hear him, or whether she would even recognize his voice, much less heed what he said to her. She was like a fury incarnate, her movements almost too fast for even him to follow. She was striking the creature with many blows, her face unrecognizable other than as a Greek mask of violence, but even as she ripped apart the thing's eyes and teeth, it merely regenerated them again, and he could feel the _shoggoth_ preparing to strike again, its jellied body pulsating. Clark felt a moment of despair - perhaps nothing they could do could even affect it, perhaps it was not even capable of the concept of pain. Then he remembered the Spear of Scáthach still embedded in its protoplasmic flesh. He could see it, still stuck in its jellyfish-like flesh, quivering there. It was still turning the area around it white...and it was spreading.

Clark lunged for it, but not before being struck by a narrow sliver of its form that lashed out at him; it cut him like a whip against his side, slicing through his suit, cutting him to the bone. He clenched his teeth, but he managed to grab the Spear, yanking it out of the _shoggoth's_ shimmering black hide. He rolled down the _shoggoth's_ rippling form, dodging the crackling bolts of lightning still swirling around Diana. There had to be something to be done with this archaic weapon…if it really was able to disrupt this creature's molecular structure, perhaps that was its Achilles' heel. If only he could get to its heart, but that meant he would have to re-enter it again, try to find its center...the thought terrified him.

"Diana!" Clark yelled as loud as he could. "Diana, listen to me!"

But it seemed clear she could not; the berserker rage was possessing her utterly, and he could only watch as she boldly - insanely - leapt onto the _shoggoth_ itself just as her mentor Gorgo had, grabbing its waving tentacles, tearing them off, even as it sprouted new ones in its place. She couldn't go on indefinitely, sooner or later the _shoggoth_ would ensnare her in its deadly grip. Suddenly Clark knew what he had to do.

Clark rose again and flew around the body of the _shoggoth_, evading the flapping coils that tried to strike him, and he swept down, but this time not at the _shoggoth _itself but at his wife; ducking his head, he grasped her around the waist and he gasped, feeling the unearthly power pulsating through her. She roared, not seeing her husband, but only as another attacker, and she struck out at him. He felt his ribs shake as her blows landed, but he ignored the pain and flew off with her. He flung her away from the _shoggoth_, just as it tried to grab them yet again. It struck her a glancing blow with its body, and she crashed backwards into the trees. He forced himself to turn around. Red beams of rage exploded from his eyes, and a quarter of the _shoggoth's_ bulk exploded, a tunnel being carved within the body of the creature itself; without thought, Clark grabbed the Spear and flung himself into it once again.

Diana screamed again as she tumbled through the branches, not feeling them at all, this time in pure rage at having been deprived of her enemy. She had struck out at Clark, not really seeing him, but as she saw him flying into the _shoggoth_ with the scared Spear, some reason returned to her. She dimly recognized that person in the blue and red armor as having some connection to her, other than that of enemy…who was he? Then it came back to her in a searing rush, and she reacted in horror. What had she done? What was he doing?

"Clark, no!" she cried. She leapt at the abomination - so true was Gorgo's description of it – it began twisting and twisting, spinning, like a tornado common to this region, rising up towards the heavens higher and higher. Eyes and teeth and mouths spun with it, as it swallowed up her husband and he disappeared from sight. Hades, no, it would not take him! She lifted the trunk of a fallen tree and sent it flying into the creature, but it only knocked it aside, still spinning, reacting to Clark's unwanted presence within it. Enraged, nearly mad with terror and fury she flung herself after her husband, unhooking the Lasso from her waist. She felt the tentacles of the abomination snake around her waist, but she ignored it and flung the Lasso into it. A mouth opened in the black rolling horror, and the mouth swallowed it.

_Gaia, may your cord of Truth save my husband! Please, save him from this horror._

Diana felt the thing's grip tighten about her, more and more, but still she hung onto the Lasso and resisted the abomination's pull, even though it felt like she might be torn in two. She would not let go of the Lasso. She felt the eyes of the abomination, every one of them, focus balefully on her and she knew now beyond doubt, that it was intelligent, that it was aware, and its purpose was to devour her and all life. She felt tension on the Lasso, and pulled with the last bit of her strength and fury.

"NO YOU WILL NOT HAVE HIM!"

A soundless explosion, as if the world had imploded. Diana did not see it, but she felt herself pushed with an incredible force, flying through the air, she felt the Lasso torn from her hands, and she felt herself falling, falling. It seemed to take an eternity, as if she were miles high in the sky. Then, descending, in a sky of white and black.

Diana fell to the ground, and barely felt the impact. She lay there, unable to move. After a time, she managed to turn over on her stomach, feeling numb. Then she became aware of her entire body shaking uncontrollably; she gasped with thirst and pain as the berserker rage finally departed from her, leaving her as a normal Amazon again. For the moment she was blind and deaf. She couldn't tell what had become of the _shoggoth_, the abomination; she could not hear or see anything. Instinctively, her hand brushed her left thigh, but her sword was no longer attached to her metal band. Gradually, sight and hearing returned to her, and the silence that now surrounded her distressed her. Her eyes slowly opened, and she saw the blasted landscape. She expected to see the abomination rising above her, to deliver the killing blow, but there was nothing except the sunlight finally poking through the dissipating stormclouds. Light, at last. Had they defeated it, then? She turned her face, and then she saw the _shoggoth_. Or what was left of it

It - they - it was all around her. Dozens upon dozens of little rivulets of black, each containing the creature's eyes and teeth, still chittering, but no longer audible; they ran over the ground like rainwaters seeking an outlet, moving away from the crater. Each runnel of black surged over the ground, returning to the Red House, ignoring her as she lay helpless on the ground. It had been discomposed, but it hadn't been destroyed. Frantically, Diana looked around for Clark - Clark should be by her side, but she could not feel him, or hear him. Dear Gaia, where was he? If he hadn't survived...she did not know if she could live herself...

Footsteps, approaching.

"Clark?" she whispered. Then she saw her husband in front of her, also prostrate on the ground; thank the Goddess, he was still alive! But he was clutching at his ribs, his armor battered and torn, his face bruised and streaked with blood and gore. He saw her and he struggled to reach her side, only able to pull himself forward on his hands. He wasn't the one approaching her from behind, then…who was…?

A sword flashed directly in front of her face for her to see, blocking her view of her husband.

"Looking for this?" a male voice asked. A voice she recognized.

In panic, she struggled to arise, but her body would not respond as fast as her mind demanded. In the next second Will grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her head up, exposing her throat. He swung the _xiphos_ blade down towards her neck, stopping only just as the razor-sharp edge touched the skin just above her neckband.

"Now then, _Wonder Woman_,_" _Will asked. "What should I do with you?"

**[Sorry, couldn't resist another cliffhanger! Our brave couple has survived the battle, but what evil does Will have in mind now? Tune in next time and see! Hopefully by next weekend. MoS new movie trailer should be out by then too! Thank you for all your reviews, and please keep them coming, they do inspire me!]**


	19. Chapter 19

[Warning: Adult language and violent scenes ahead!]

Chapter Nineteen

Clark's first thought was that he was dead. That thought seemed to be most logical.

For one thing, he didn't know where he was. He didn't remember how he escaped the _shoggoth_, or what had happened after he breached its mass with the Spear, like Ahab with the whale. Perhaps he hadn't escaped it after all and he was still in its gut (if it possessed such a thing). He had the feeling of floating in a sea of haze-gray, and there wasn't room for thought in it – that might be more preferable, anyway, compared to the alternatives. Then, images began to come to him, as they had before, and then his second thought was…

_Where is everyone?_

_Darkness – it was the middle of the night. He was at the Red House again: in his nightmares he was always here. If he was dead, perhaps he was doomed to haunt this place, having failed and died here, maybe it was his punishment…but that wouldn't be so awful after all since his pa was here. But pa wasn't alone, he was with other men, and they all looked grim, angry and scared even though they carried guns in their hands. Was this a lynch mob? Were they after him? He thought he'd been careful to let no one see him show off his abilities. Would they try to hurt him? Ma and pa had warned him this could happen if anyone saw. He had to convince them he was no monster, so they would not try to hurt him, or his parents._

_A volley of gunfire echoed in the woods. Then the men started shouting and screaming, some of them dropping their rifles and fleeing into the night. His pa was standing with neighbors he recognized. Old Man Johnson was there too. They were huddled together and uncertain what to do, terrified of the dark. Pa was encouraging them, trying to keep them from panicking. He wanted to go to him, help him, but he couldn't move. He tried to call to him, but someone else's voice rang out instead._

"_Stand fast and do not run!"_

_The voice was familiar – Clark had heard it before, but long ago. It was an old man's voice, high-pitched and reedy but still strong and loud. Then he saw the speaker: an elderly man in an old-fashioned suit, wearing round glasses, the kind Clark owned also. It was Lana's uncle, old Doctor Potter. He was a family friend. He stood apart from the others, before the Red House, and the darkness that was swallowing it. It was an unnatural darkness, not the nighttime darkness, but something 'other' that was deep and unfathomable, and more like a void…like the shoggoth's blackness but minus its eyes. It arose from inside the clock tower, extending things that looked like wings, which blotted out the stars behind it. It was this that was scaring the men, not him. The muzzle flash of their guns illuminated it for only a second, but it was enough to further throw them into another frenzy of fear, because they now saw more of its form, they saw its burning three-lobed eye, looking back at them terribly. From some dimly-remembered memory the words came to Clark:_

_¿Buscas el casador de la noche?_

_Do you seek the haunter of the dark?_

_Pa was shouting at the men to keep calm, even as some were screaming, even crying. Over it all came the voice of Doc Potter; of all the men he alone was standing fearlessly before the amorphous winged thing, his arms outstretched like an ancient priest, shouting – chanting? – in some unknown language. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to keep the thing at bay, but the darkness - its darkness - was still spreading…all the stars were winking out in the sky, one by one…_

"_Now! Do it now!" Doc Potter shouted over his shoulder._

_A man was trying to run away – Pa grabbed him and tried to keep him from running and they struggled for a moment. Finally pa wrenched something away from the man's hand, and let him go; the other man ran off. Pa raised his arm like a baseball player and threw it as hard as he could at the thing in the sky. A blinding flash filled the world…_

Clark awoke with a start, felt himself lying once again on the wet, muddy ground. He coughed, and it hurt. Ribs busted, perhaps. Incredible. His legs didn't feel like they worked properly either, but at least he could still feel them and all his other extremities too, that was a good thing. He saw that his suit was ripped and torn, and streaked with smoking runnels of the black, jelled specks. The _shoggoth_ itself, he couldn't see at all, until he saw its remains - for that was what the specks were - crawl off his body and squiggle back towards the direction of the Red House. He cried out in disgust and rolled away from them as much as he could, but they were no longer attacking. His eyes searched around frantically for his wife.

"Diana!" he shouted. "Diana!"

He spotted her then, further away. She was alive and awake, on her hands and knees, shaking in exhaustion. The strange possession she had demonstrated earlier was gone, leaving her drained and helpless. He tried to go to her, but his legs collapsed under him. Then, he saw Will Richardson walk past him, as easily and casually as he would walk out of a classroom. He was carrying Diana's sword in his hand.

"No!" Clark yelled in warning, but it was too late. He saw Will grab his wife by her long dark hair and brutally yank her head back. She tried to struggle but her strength was diminished, like his. Her arms reached up to try to wrench his arm from around her neck, but he heard Clark's warning too and dragged Diana around so that Clark could see the both of them clearly. He saw that he held her sword to her throat, her hands unable to pull his arm away. He pressed the edge of the razor-sharp _xiphos_ closer, hissing something to her and she froze, realizing that he held the upper hand.

"Do you see this, Clark?" Will shouted. "Or would you prefer that I call you Superman instead?"

Clark felt his eyes start to burn, but Will saw it. "Oh, I know what you can do, Clark! Maybe you can even stand up and get to me, faster than a bullet! But, maybe," he pressed the edge closer Diana's neck and blood trickled from its cut as she clenched her teeth. "Just maybe…I'm just a little bit closer...and quicker, now," Will looked down at the blood. "Can you smell it, Clark?" His thumb on his hand holding the sword traced her jawline suggestively, and she shivered in rage, but she didn't move.

Clark didn't move, and the red light dimmed from his eyes. Will grinned at him again, showing all his teeth. Sometime between when Clark had last seen him in the Red House and now, his hair had gone from blonde to an ashen grey. His black coat whipped around him in the wind like a dark robe. His once-handsome face was twisted in a deranged grimace and his eyes were empty of sanity. Whatever had happened to him, he could tell it was complete and irreversible.

As if to accentuate his words, he pulled harder on Diana's hair, making her gasp aloud; she was too exhausted even to make any other noise. Every iota of Clark's being wanted to fling himself at Will and crush him to a pulp, but he feared Will might be correct. If his strength failed him, and Will was indeed a bit quicker…Clark looked into his wife's eyes but he couldn't risk Diana's life on that bet.

"Will, please...let her go," Clark said hoarsely, his heart pounding. "What is it you want? There's no reason…to hurt anyone else. Let her go!"

Will barked a coarse laugh. "Is there not, now? Come Clark, aren't you even curious? I think you have to be, after all these years, you finally came back to the Red House."

"I came back to Smallville to live in peace with my family," Clark tried to push himself off the ground by his fists, but his strength was still weak. "I thought you would, too, after everything that happened to us! What have you done with Lana?"

Will only sneered at his words. "Is that all you can think about? These _fucking_ cunts?" his hand tightened on the sword he held against Diana's neck, against her jugular. She held herself rigid and still, but Clark could see her eyes burn with hatred. "Man, I thought you might think a little differently. Look at you! Don't you even know you who are? You could be a god among men…if _they_ are willing to consider a few of us as worthy of their knowledge, how much more you would be! I can't believe you would still act the little sniveling coward you always were, or," Will glared at him. "Maybe that's what you are at heart."

Clark shook his head, his teeth gritted. "I am no coward, and if you weren't cowering behind my wife you would know that, Will. What are you talking about?"

Will grinned again at him and Clark could see he was utterly mad. "I'll tell you. _They_ have good faith - _they_ tried once over eighty years ago, and no one listened to them then, or turned them away, and now look at us! Nothing but a fucking useless virus on the planet, and everything we touch turns to shit. You and your pseudo-hero friends should know that by now. You're doing nothing but wasting your time, you know that do you not? But as the stars are right once again, as the good book says, now there's another chance. Not for humanity as a whole, but some. I've been told of it, _shown_ it. All we have to do is stretch out our hands and ask, and we can have their knowledge. It is a wonderful thing Clark, it is _the beautiful thing that awaits us all_."

Clark shook his head. "Will…what...whatever you've been told, whatever you think it is, it's evil. Look at what's happened here! Do you think any good come of this?"

"When did I mention good or evil! Clark, use your fucking advanced brain! You are beyond good and evil, as they are! You're beyond these dregs that live here! Both of us, we can talk to them. I can help you! You and I have this opportunity, just as we should have done all those years ago - take it, at last! _Iä! __Iä!" __  
_

Diana knew that Will was insane and going into a rant, and that she would only have a half-second's chance. Just as Will shifted his stance ever so slightly, Diana swung her right elbow up into Will's groin with all the strength left to her. He doubled over and she grabbed his sword-arm and wrenched it back. Will clutched at her and she smashed her fist into his face, breaking his nose. Her second punch shattered most of his teeth and his lower jaw. Will collapsed into the mud, the _xiphos_ falling from his hand. He tried to get up but Diana's knee smashed into his chest and knocked him down. He swayed unsteadily on his knees. Diana retrieved her sword and held the point at his throat, breathing hard, and unevenly. To her fury and amazement, Will only laughed, a thick and choking sound though the blood and mucus.

"This changes nothing," he gurgled through his mouthful of broken teeth. "You think…you have the upper hand now…but you never really did, nor will you ever," his eyes rolled in his head as he focused on her, and even now a leer was fixed on his face. "This is not the end."

"It _is_ the end," Diana stated with finality, her voice cracking with rage and pain. "For you! For what you did to Lana! _And to my child_!"

Enraged beyond further words, Diana struck at him, but because of her shakiness, the sword did not strike home. It sliced Will at the neck and shoulder, carving a deep crimson gash into his chest. Clark watched in horror, he cried to her _No!_ but she was beyond hearing. Blood spurted from the ugly gaping wound, his head lolled, but Will did not cry out at all, only stared up at her with his mad, bloodshot eyes. Blood and saliva drooled out of his mouth as he flung his last words at her.

"_Were. Are. Shall Be."_

With a battle-maddened cry Clark knew he would never forget, Diana raised the sword and swung down again in a wide arc. It cleaved through the rest of Will's neck in one blow, and his head tumbled to the mud, blood spurting from the exposed cavity of his throat, splashing her chest and face. Will's body toppled over, now only dead flesh.

Diana's eyes had burned with a warrior's light and wrath but now that her opponent was no more, all the adrenaline and energy drained from her, as her last remaining strength left her body. Her sword fell from her numbed hand. She turned towards Clark, desperately reaching out to him as she took a few steps, then she stumbled and collapsed, unconscious.

Clark crawled over to Diana as she lay there on the ground, and he held her tightly. He could still hear her heartbeat and her breathing – that was all that mattered.

"Diana, my love," he whispered. "I'm here." He clutched her hand, and thought he felt her squeeze it, every so slightly, in return.

The rain had slowed to a light patter, and finally stopped; the sunlight shone down fully through the clouds. Clark raised his face to it, relishing its feel on his face, but then something blotted it out, and he was back in the shadows again. His vision was still not clear; if it was the _shoggoth_ again, he knew that neither of them had the strength to resist it for a second battle now. He held Diana closer, knowing that at least they would die together in the knowledge that they had fought to the last.

But the inhuman call of the _shoggoth_ did not echo again in the woods. Clark blinked, and tried to re-focus; he thought he heard an engine. He saw something hovering in the sky, just above the tree line. It was dark and awesome-looking, but it was clearly man-made, and had the shape of a bat's wing. Clark thought he understood.

Something descended from the shape in the sky; Clark watched as it glided towards the ground, its black cape outstretched. It landed on the ground close by, and strode up to them on two legs.

"Superman!" it roared. "What the _hell_ is happening here?"

Clark couldn't help it; he started to laugh, much to the newcomer's annoyance. He rolled over onto his back and kept laughing, wondering in amazement that he even had the strength to do so. But the heavy cloud that lay over his mind had departed, and he knew that they were going to be all right.

* * *

Batman directed Cyborg to help both Superman and Wonder Woman into the Batwing and to take them quickly to the Watchtower. Flash stood next to him, looking around in amazement, and with some horror, at the devastation and the dead bodies around them. Wonder Woman – Diana – was still unconscious, but her vital signs were stabilized, if very weak. Superman was awake but drifting in and out of consciousness. His body already seemed to be healing on its own, but what he was saying didn't seem to make too much sense, perhaps his mind was still shaken up. There was absolutely no way he could let anyone find either of them like this, Bruce decided.

"Get them out of here, now!" he ordered Victor, who nodded quickly. Whatever had happened here, anyway the show seemed to be over. But Superman gripped Bruce's arm just before he was medevac'd. Even in his weak state, it was strong and Batman stayed where he was.

"Destroy the Red House!" Clark whispered urgently. "Every part of it! Do it, Batman!" then his eyes closed, as he faded out of consciousness again. His grip loosened, and Bruce nodded to Victor, who took control of the 'wing, and it turned and sped away.

Flash watched it depart with some foreboding. That meant that only him and Batman were here in these woods in the middle of nowhere, and although he had no idea of what had happened here, he had the distinct idea it had could not have been very nice.

"What do you think they were fighting?" he asked.

"We'll find out," Batman said shortly. "We have to. I'll check out the house. You search the woods around here. If you see any people, cops, you lead them away from here until we can determine there's no danger."

Flash's eyes widened. "You mean…by myself?"

"I don't see anyone else, do you?" Batman's tone suggested this wasn't up for discussion.

"All right," Flash grumbled. "Don't be too long, I know I'm not gonna." With that he was off.

Batman approached to the Red House, observing the incredible damage the place had sustained in whatever fight Superman and Wonder Woman were in. Superman had claimed that the thing they were fighting (he had called it a _shoggoth _and for some reason the name sounded familiar, or maybe it had struck some chord) had retreated back to the house, but as far as he could see there was nothing here except an enormous pile of rubble. Fully half the place looked as if something smashed it in, as if a plane had crashed into it. Bricks, boards, plaster and broken bits of glass and metal littered the area all around it. The other end of the house and its unique clock-tower structure seemed intact, but it was likely severely structurally damaged and liable to collapse any minute. But as to whoever or whatever had done this, it was hiding out, or no longer around. No things, no black tentacles or blobs.

In fact, Batman began to realize, not much of anything was around. He suddenly realized he could hear nothing at all. No sound of birds, or insects, or anything. The abrupt and total silence rang in his ears, used to the ambient noise of Gotham City. Slowly, he entered the Red House itself, prepared for anything even though he didn't think there was anything left to do here. But whatever could have laid his friends so low, he had better be on his guard. He picked his way through the debris field. Water from the rainstorm dripped down from the exposed beams in the ceiling, and created oily puddles on the floor. He wasn't interested in the ruins of the grand ballroom, or the demolished staircase or the battered kitchen walls, it was only rubble and nothing exceptional. It only took him a few minutes to clear most of the house. Nothing.

His hearing then picked something up. Silently, he spun, his great black cape extended behind him. He noticed that the door to the clock tower building was open, slightly. There _was_ something, some noise was coming from within there. The sound amplifiers embedded in his Kevlar-lined cowl enabled him to hear it clearly, but he couldn't determine its origin, or exactly what it was. It was a humming, or a buzzing sound, but not a random noise. It sounded like a hairclipper trying to make coherent sounds. He waited a moment, then the buzzing abruptly stopped. Silence, again. But it had been there, he was sure of it.

Slowly, Batman approached the entrance to the clock-tower, in full stealth mode. He used his infrared vision but determined no heat signals. He cleared the doorway, still nothing. The entranceway of the clock-tower was dark and silent, until the buzzing noise started again. This time slightly louder. There were stairs leading up to the clock-device in its upper level. It was coming from there. He wanted to see what it was.

Batman flashed his light into the darkness of the clock-tower. What he saw against the far wall made him leap back, his cape swirling protectively around his body, his arms thrown up to ward it away if it came after him. He tumbled against the steps, and nearly fell down. He flung an explosive dart from his belt and it illuminated the corridor as it went off, sending shards of metal everywhere. But he immediately saw there was actually nothing in the clock-tower, he had thrown it at empty air. Yet...he was positive he had seen something there - at first, he thought the walls were covered with some kind of porous stringy growths, mold from decades of abandonment, but these were growths which pulsated, and moved, and changed colors, and then they disappeared up and out through the hole in the roof of the tower, through tenebrous wings carrying something that looked like...

He rushed away quickly out of the clock-tower, rushing outside the Red House, looking up into the sky, but he saw nothing. Then someone approaching him from behind...

Batman whirled in a semi-crouch, flinging one of his batarangs at what came up behind him. It narrowly missed Flash as he zoomed out of its way, and it sunk deeply into the trunk of a still-standing tree.

"Jeez, Bats!" he shouted. "It's only me!"

"Next time, say something!" Bruce yelled in return, a little more sharply than he'd intended. In a calmer voice he inquired, "Did you find anything?"

"No. There's nothing out there. Nothing but a couple of unconscious cops in their cruiser a couple miles down the road. They're fine. Oh yeah, and our headless pal back there, and the old lady in the 'Gladiator' costume."

"That's no lady, that's an Amazon," Batman corrected. Flash's eyes widened. "Undoubtedly one of Wonder Woman's extended family. We'd better take her with us. I'll plant some explosives here. This place will be gone before the authorities can muck about with it."

Flash was curious. "Did you find anything here?"

"No…and I don't like that."

"Wha-? I don't get it."

"I'll explain later. Let's just get the hell out of here, right now."

Minutes later, puffs of smoke spurted from the foundations of the old art-deco building, then flashes, and then the house exploded from underneath and within, and the clock-tower, the walls and ceiling, collapsed in on themselves, sending a cloud of dust up the slate-blue sky. The Red House was no more.

**[Wow, no cliff-hanger this chapter! But the story still goes on, for a few more chapters to wrap things up...there are still some unanswered questions. Is our couple ok? What about Diana's baby? What happened to Lana, and John Corben? All to be answered when I get around to the next chapter and the epilogue. Bonus points for ya if you can guess what Batman saw in the clock-tower! PS: Loved the new Man of Steel trailer! Yes Superman does look great with a beard :D]**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

_Watchtower: Several Days Later_

Clark sat alone in his appointed quarters aboard the Watchtower. His computer was activated and he quietly skimmed through old situation reports, messages, and global news. He had healed quickly from his wounds without problem, but their memory still caused him to move a tad slowly and stiffly. He supposed that would pass in time as well. He rubbed his now-beardless chin, forcing himself to read through all his messages, until the time he could see Diana again, where she was confined in the medbay. She had been there since they'd returned, recovering. Batman had been very insistent that she stay in the medbay for awhile yet, and equally insistent that Clark stay away until the appointed visiting time. Much to Batman's surprise, Clark did not fight him over this. They both knew Diana needed time to heal herself. Although he didn't tell Batman this, Clark could hardly bear to see his wife lying there in the bay bed, nearly as still as death. He hadn't known until then that Will had stabbed her.

He didn't allow himself to think about the baby, yet.

Clark saw an email from Jimmy, and opened it.

_Hi C.K.! What's up? Sorry to hear that the farming gig didn't work out. Does that mean you're moving back to Metropolis? I've got some news: Daily World is moving all its offices to Los Angeles so guess where I'm going! Gotta go where the money is, and LA's where the celebs are, or most of them anyway. Lois and her partner are already living there, well it's Hollywood and all. BTW, Lois asked about you and how you were doing. Is it ok if I give her your new email address? I think she misses you, but she won't admit it of course. Do you need a place to live now that you've given up the farm? You're ALWAYS welcome to move in with me, I've already lined up a nice apartment, great location too. Diana can come too but only if she promises not to beat me up, LOL! Anyway, THINK about it! If you do talk to Lois (you should!), don't tell her I told you but working for her is crazy! I think you were a good check on her, but now that you're gone, she's turned into a monster! She's becoming another Anna Wintour!_

Jimmy and Lois were leaving Metropolis? That meant he would hardly know anyone in the city anymore. He couldn't really see himself living in Los Angeles, but now, after everything…he sighed and stood up. He decided he couldn't wait any longer, and left his tiny room.

As he approached the medbay he saw Batman, just as he exited. His heartbeat increased as the dark-clad figure approached him, but he relaxed when he recognized Bruce's familiar scowl. If his face had been filled with compassion, he would have _really_ started to worry.

"Diana? Is she-?"

"She's fine," Bruce Wayne replied tersely. "She's awake and asking for you."

Superman's throat felt thick. "And…?"

"The baby is ok, too. Only because of the parents' resilient genes, I'm guessing. Maybe a little bit of luck also."

Clark's shoulders eased noticeably. Batman still looked quite stern. "You and I need to have a discussion about this…and other matters."

"I need to talk to Diana first," Clark replied firmly.

"I know. Go in and see her, Superman. Keep in mind that I told her I would send you off on an assignment if she tried to get up and leave before she's supposed to."

Batman clapped a hand briefly on Superman's shoulder as he hurried into the medbay. He looked over his shoulder at his alien friend. He had only done a quick debriefing with him over what had happened in Smallville, but there were many missing details, too many for Bruce's liking. He had done some research of his own, and what he had uncovered disturbed him. A lot. If even of what a quarter of what he'd read was true, then this was a matter for the entire League, including Green Lantern, whether Hal believed he was a member of the team or not. They would need his help, and Aquaman's. Where was he, anyway? First, however, he had to ensure that Superman and Wonder Woman were all right. He somehow felt that this was not over, yet. If only they hadn't decided to complicate things by hooking up! He reminded himself to draft another "No Fraternization" clause into the League charter.

Batman's scowl deepened, and he made sure Superman had disappeared into the medbay before going down the corridor and making sure Cyborg and Flash weren't eavesdropping again near the hatch.

Clark took a deep breath when he entered the medbay and saw Diana lying in one of the bay beds at the other end. She wore a generic hospital gown and a white cotton sheet was pulled up to her waist. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked peaceful, if tired. He drifted in the air towards her, in order not to make any noise if she was still asleep, but she opened her eyes as soon as he neared. She offered him a small, almost shy smile as he let his boots touch the deck. He pulled up a chair beside her. He found that he was only able to look at her, too inexpressibly relieved that she was alive, and that their child was alive. He was at a mysterious loss for words, even though he had made his living as a writer.

"Oh. You've shaved off your fur." It was Diana who broke the silence. She reached up and pressed a hand against his cleanshaven cheek.

Clark smiled, a bit sheepishly. "I thought you didn't like it."

"Hm. It made you look older, but it was not a bad look. You did look like an Argive, though. Did you have words with Batman?"

"I did. He told me you were going to be all right and that our child..our baby is ok," Clark said hoarsely.

Diana pressed a hand on his arm reassuringly. "Of course I will be, and our daughter too – she has a strong father."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "'Daughter?'"

She grinned at him. "Or our son." She pushed herself up on her hands, into a sitting position.

"Diana, don't-"

"Batman instructed you to not let me get up, did he? He is such an old man, sometimes," Diana harrumphed. "I think he was born old."

"Probably he's wiser than all of us," Clark said thoughtfully. He reached out and touched her stomach, gently feeling its warmth. Diana placed her hands over his, seeing the agony in his face. He seemed to be wanting to tell her something. She waited patiently.

"They couldn't find any sign of Lana," he said softly. "They've listed both her and Will as missing and presumed dead. I can only think…"

He broke off and couldn't finish, tears falling down his cheeks. For Diana, it was still quite a rarity to see a man cry, after a lifetime of being told that men were too cold and callous to permit themselves deep emotions. She watched him in wonder, even as she also intensely felt the sadness – her friend, too - of Lana's death.

"What of our neighbor, your parents' friend?"

"Ed Johnson passed away in the hospital. He went into a coma…they only kept him on life support until his family could arrive."

"I grieve with you," Diana murmured. Clark looked at her, his face wet with tears, and bent his head to her neck, embracing her tightly. She held him close, giving herself up to mourning also, thinking of Gorgo. For a long moment they wept together, wordlessly, in silence.

After a few minutes, Clark lifted his head. His right hand was still resting on Diana's belly. He knew it was still perhaps too early to feel a heartbeat, but he couldn't help but imagine he felt it anyway, or perhaps it was only in his mind. He knew that they had been extremely lucky, just as Batman had said.

"I've made a decision about the farm," Clark began slowly, looking away. "I received the foreclosure notice from the bank and…so…I've decided to lease it - donate it really - to a co-op program. It's a group of young people wanting to start an organic farming project. I'd rather see that happen than selling it to a corporation, especially one owned by Luthor."

"It is yours to decide," Diana said gently. "You no longer wish to live in your home town?"

"Smallville remains my home, but in my memories now. My true home is…is wherever you are, Diana."

He looked up at her, and saw what he feared, in her eyes. "You've come to a decision, too."

Diana fidgeted with the blanket covering her legs. "I need to take Gorgo home to Themyscira for her funeral rites. I swore it to her. Also…my mother…I must see her."

Clark felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach, but he only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew this day would have come, sooner or later.

"I-I understand. I'll wait for you, no matter how long you decide to stay. I can stay with Jimmy at his place in LA."

Diana looked in his eyes. "Come with me, Clark."

He was stunned. "To Themyscira? But, will they allow it? Have they changed their rules?"

"I wrote to my mother," Diana replied drily. "I wrote - how would Batman put it - a 'strongly worded letter,'" her eyes grew dark. "About the mission she tasked Gorgo with…and so she has replied. She invites you to Paradise Island." She reached into her gown and handed him a folded scrap of paper.

Curious and surprised, Clark unfolded it. "Queen Hippolyta has an email address now?"

"Some inventions of Man's World are better than others," Diana opined.

The first part of the letter was rather formal: Hippolyta's greeting (Clark noticed that she used the royal 'we') and her sorrow over Gorgo's passing. Then, only at the very end, did she mention him,

…_As for your man, this "Superman" as he is known there, we will accede to your wish and invite him to visit Paradise Island, since you insist on it. However, if he is not the honorable man you claim him to be, or if we learn that your marriage was conducted under compulsion, rest assured that we shall have his privies cut off and thrown to the dogs and his skin nailed to the palace walls and…_

Clark got the gist. "Um…you _did_ say this was an 'invitation', right?" Clark scratched the back of his neck.

Diana took the letter back and smiled mischievously. "My mother wrote that knowing I would show it to you, perhaps in hope of frightening you away. She does not know you. She will. I did not tell her about the child yet. There are some things one cannot convey in an email. Besides, I will not have you living with that odious Olsen! He would ply you with wine and women in my absence, until you forgot your wild Amazon."

Clark felt himself smile; he could tell by Diana's tone that she was teasing him. "Hm. I've seen the kind of girls Jimmy brings home – you don't have anything to worry about! Anyway, you better tell your mom that my skin would make a terrible wall-decoration, she ought to shop at Martha Stewart instead," he joked weakly.

"Then, you will come?"

Clark squeezed her hand. "Remember what I promised you, when you looped the cord around my wrist at the handfasting? 'Wherever you will go, I will follow. I would endure anything to be by your side'…even if it means risking my 'privies!''"

Diana could not be still in bed; she leaned forward and threw her arms around her husband, holding onto him as if she would never let go. Clark held her as tightly as he could, marveling, not for the first or last time, that she was alive and in love with him, and that there would soon be another son – or daughter – of Krypton and Earth to join them.

* * *

_Midwestern University, Kansas, Earth_

Dean John Winthrop wrung his hands nervously. As Chairman of the Middle Eastern Studies Department, a particularly sensitive topic of interest nowadays, he was always rather alarmed over visits and inquiries - particularly unannounced ones - from federal officials, especially those connected with National Security. He had been personally shocked at the news that Professor Richardson had died – his first thought was that the young man had gotten mixed up with the wrong Islamist group during his 'researches' which, to Winthrop's professional shock, had recently taken a quite strange and religious turn. The trio of men now standing in his office only seemed to reinforce his worries about academics getting in above their heads. Two of them were big Caucasian men in dark suits, looking like ex-military, which they probably were. They said nothing, but only flashed their badges, too fast for Winthrop to fully examine them, but he was a bit too intimidated by them to insist upon a closer inspection of their credentials. The smaller, middle-aged man accompanying them seemed to be the 'head' agent or supervisor; he wasn't as muscular as the others but he carried himself with a natural authority, and somehow with even more intimidation, just like a government agent. Dean Winthrop, whom others at the college called the typical 'Ivory Tower' academic' behind his back, was hardly the type of person to question what the man said now.

"Agent Soledad," the man spoke briskly while his two subordinates stood like mute golems behind him. "I'm here to search Dr. Richardson's office."

"Ah, yes, is this about the…what happened to him? Is...I mean, do you have a warrant?" Dean Winthrop wrung his hand for the umpteenth time. He already could feel perspiration trickle down his forehead and under his arms. He was only used to dealing with other professors; while browbeating poorly-paid adjunct teachers was no problem for him, anyone even remotely 'official' always made him so nervous!

The agent nodded, but he offered a reassuring smile. "This is just a routine check, for matters of national security. Dr. Richardson (I'm very sorry for your university's loss, you have my utmost sympathies) as you know, was conducting research for this university, which, for matters of the utmost national and homeland security considerations, we need to look into. I'm sure you understand. If we need to go back for a warrant, it might require a more rigorous search of the.."

Dean Winthrop really didn't, but he gulped and nodded. "Oh...our Department has nothing to hide! Please, I don't want to get in the way of a federal investigation..."

But the agent and his two companions had already entered Dr. Richardson's office and were beginning their search before he'd even stopped talking. He could only stand in the doorway, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, as they went through file cabinets, his bookcases, and his desk. They removed his laptop and placed it in a black suitcase. There was a small safe behind Dr. Richardson's desk, where Dean Winthrop assumed Will probably kept some valuables or money. Although it was shut, the agents had no problem popping the combination lock, and opening it. Dean Winthrop couldn't see what was inside, but one of the agents rummaged through it, then pulled out a dark and ugly-looking folio, something that Winthrop could tell from his experience, was likely a very old manuscript. The big man examined it briefly, then handed it to Agent Soledad, nodding. Agent Soledad touched the cover with his fingertips, and smiled again, which reminded Dean Winthrop of a reptile basking in the sun.

"_Kitab Al Azif_," he said, or it sounded something like it. It didn't mean anything to the Dean, perhaps it was a terrorist manual?

After that, they seemed to be done in their investigation. They didn't seem to be interested in anything else in the office. It had taken no more than five minutes. The two men bustled their way out down the corridor.

"Er...is that all?" Winthrop inquired nervously. "Do we need to file some kind of report?"

"Oh, no need for that," Agent Soledad replied cheerfully. "Thank you very much Dean for your cooperation. We'll be in touch again shortly." With that he was off following his men.

Winthrop sighed in relief, even though his mind was still running through doomsday scenarios, on top of having to plan a memorial for the late Dr. Richardson. As long as he (and their department!) weren't in any trouble!

The three men in dark suits walked rapidly out of the university building and out towards the plaza and parking lot, college kids giving way in front of them, wondering if this was some kind of bust. These people looked like cops. There was a black sedan, with official plates, waiting for them at the curb. One of the big men pulled open the door for the senior agent, while the other took the passenger seat next to the driver. One cynical young freshman, watching this group, thought she saw the older man pull off his toupee (or maybe it was a wig), revealing a head as bald as an egg, as the car pulled away rapidly from the curb and zoomed out towards the highway. She wondered if the FBI or CIA or whomever was getting slack, if they allowed their agents to remove their disguises in public! No wonder the country was in so much shit!

* * *

_Smallville, The Present_

_Channel 10 News - All the News for Your Day!_

_Good morning Kansas!_

_This is Gail Henderson reporting. Good morning!_

_And I'm Ted Johansen, Good morning!_

_An update to the story we brought you two days ago. The explosion and fatalities which occurred in Smallvillle are now thought to be connected to a meth ring running out of the area. A famous local landmark from the 1920s, known as The Red House, was completely destroyed in what is now believed to be a meth lab explosion. The explosion is believed to have killed two local law enforcement officers, and at least two other people. Police are still investigating. There is an unconfirmed report that the superhero of Gotham City, the Justice League member known as the 'Batman' was sighted in Smallville! It could be possible that a drug cartel known to operate in Gotham City may be operating in the Midwest._

_Still a tragedy, Gail._

_Yes it is Ted. A state senator has expressed concern that he was not notified that the Batman was operating in the state, and has made a formal complaint._

_He'd hardly be the Batman if he gave advance notice! (Laughter)_

_That's true! And now to our local weather forecast..._

Mrs. Oates turned off the small countertop TV on her desk, shaking her head. What a terrible tragedy! All those poor people…something like this was the last thing Smallville needed, on top of the recession and all the other hardships this little town was going through. If there was any good thing about this, it was that it hadn't happened right in the middle of town, and that more people weren't killed.

"Miss Edna Mae," Mrs. Oates called out to one of the library volunteers, an elderly lady who came twice a week. "Can you watch the front desk for a minute while I take this box down to Storage?"

She nodded brightly and Mrs. Oates lifted the box and headed past the groups of giggling schoolchildren who were leafing through the Japanese _manga_ books or surfing the Internet in the brightly lit interior of the library, past the DVD shelves, down to the hallway where the restrooms were located. The door at the end of the corridor led to stairs. She took out her key ring and unlocked the door, turned on the dim electric light, and carefully stepped down the concrete steps to the basement.

The library basement was poorly lit and slightly damp, as most basements typically were, with its smell of must and disinfectant. Mrs. Oates tried to keep it free of mice and mildew, at least.

Here were books pulled from the shelves, and donated books awaiting the twice-annual Friends of the Smallville Library Book Sale fundraiser, random stacks of receipts of maintenance contracts and other acquisitions, bits of broken shelving, chairs, filing cabinets, and the remains of the old index-card catalogue discarded when everything went online. In one corner were the cleaning supplies. Mrs. Oates ignored the stacked mops and brooms and boxes of toilet paper. Her destination was the other end of the basement, where a medium-sized wall-locker was nearly hidden by the miscellaneous junk. She had to move some of it out of the way to get access to the wall-locker. She unlocked the modest padlock which secured it, and opened the metal door.

Mrs. Oates did not open this locker often, no more than she had to, which was only once a year to check that nothing was missing. She was highly mindful of this important library duty of hers. However, most thieves would be disappointed by what this locker held – all the library's financial records and petty cash were kept in her desk upstairs. The only items inside were a small stack of very old and rare hardback books. They did not look particularly interesting or even valuable, at first glance, but Mrs. Oates was well-aware that there were people out there who would cheerfully murder an entire city to get their hands on them.

Mrs. Oates put down her box, and picked up the stack of index cards which listed every single book in the wall-locker, and began her inventory. Each index card contained the title of the book and attendant notes she'd made over the years:

Unk. Author(s). _Revelations of Glaaki, Vols. 1-8_ (Vol. 9 "On Y'golonac the Defiler" removed from inventory at request of Dr. Potter, no return date, status - Missing).

Eibon_. The Book of Eibon _(English translation by John Dee, reprint 1921).

Von Juntz, Friedrich Wilhelm. _Unaussprechlichen____ Kulten_ (German text only, no English). 1850.

Prinn, Ludvig. _De Vermis Mysteris _(Latin text with some translations in French and English). 1935.

Unk. Author._ The King in Yellow, a Play translated from the French into English_, published 1895. (Per Dr. Potter, the metal band sealing this book is NOT to be removed).

Mrs. Oates sighed in relief; all the books were present and accounted for again. Actually, in all her years as librarian, to her knowledge not one book had ever gone missing. But she didn't slack in her duty for a single day. Old Doc Potter, may God rest his dear soul, had been one of the most generous benefactors of the Smallville Public Library, and had even donated most of his library to it (although sadly, his books were so out-of-date they really couldn't use them), but these books, he had insisted, had to stay locked up and out-of-circulation, in fact, out-of-sight altogether. He didn't want to give them to any other library or university, he had said, because he knew people would look for them there. Smallville was the most unlikely place to look, he'd believed.

Mrs. Oates had once ventured to ask him why he didn't just destroy the books, if they were so dangerous and full of nasty things that could hurt people's minds. The old man had paused a long moment before answering, looking sad and haunted by his memories.

"Well, I suppose that would be the wisest thing to do," he had explained. "Perhaps I should…but, you see, I was in Germany before the war. I saw what the Nazis did, all those dreadful book-burnings. So…I just can't bring myself to do it. Others did it, and advised me to do it, just as you are, in case these books ever fell into the wrong hands. But knowledge is knowledge, I believe, it's what men do with it, that makes it evil. Who knows, perhaps what is in those books could help people in the future, somehow."

Mrs. Oates rather doubted that, but she honored the old man's wishes, and kept these books here in the basement, out of the way where no one would ever know they were here, much less fall into the hands of an impressionable child, or an adult, God forbid. The good Lord knew there was enough insanity out there, without all this occult gibberish creating trouble. It had already caused enough, she was sure.

Today, however, she had another addition to put in the secure wall-locker. Mrs. Oates took the box she had carried down here, and opened it to double-check the contents one more time. Yes, they were all there: all the old _Smallville Courier_ microfiche cartons, the ones that Clark Kent had checked out, in particular the ones that made any reference at all to the Red House. She supposed she should have done this earlier, but who could have known this would have happened? Poor Clark, to have been caught up in the old debacle surrounding that cursed house! She knew farmers were having a tough time, but she suspected that wasn't the only reason Clark had sold the farm and left again. She had known Clark since the time he had gotten his first library card when he was just a little thing, and it was a real shame that he couldn't have made the farm a go. But he had done his best. Still, she supposed, with his other job of saving the world and fighting monsters and all that, there was hardly the time to pay attention to a farm, much less deal with that kind of stuff on his home turf on top of it all. But it was still a shame. And he had such a pretty girl for a spouse, too! Mrs. Oates guessed she must be busy herself, from what she had seen of her on the news. She really hoped for the best for both of them, and that they would settle down eventually and raise a nice family.

Mrs. Oates put the box of microfiche in the locker, shut the door and secured the padlock, yanked on it to make sure it was locked, and went back up the stairs to the library, turning off the light before she shut the door, leaving the books and their knowledge in darkness once more.

* * *

_Smallville, The Past_

Martha Kent stood in her son's bedroom doorway, watching him sleep. She said a quiet prayer, as she recalled the events of the other night. When she and Jonathan discovered little Clark missing from his bed and the window wide open, they were at first worried, and then frantic, guessing that he'd decided to once again test his mysterious abilities when he assumed no one would be watching. He was such a bold and curious little boy that it was hard to repress him, despite their repeated admonitions. Their greatest fear was not that Clark would hurt himself – he seemed strangely impervious to many of the common accidents and illnesses other children suffered – but that someone would see and report it to the authorities who would, no doubt, come and take him away from them, for God knows what. They knew that if that happened, they would never see him again. Martha couldn't bear to imagine that happening.

Martha and Jonathan did not have to search long. Deputy Baker had found Clark, together with the other boys, and brought him back home. Clark had been shaking and crying with fear, almost unable to speak. When they'd discovered that they'd gone up to the Red House, Martha and Jonathan were nearly scared out of their wits. Virtually all the long-time residents of Smallville knew something of the history and reputation of that place, even if most of it was unsubstantiated rumor, yet above all was the unspoken concurrence that it was an evil place to be avoided. The kind of place not even to be spoken of aloud lest curiosity lead the unwary into its walls. They were terrified that Clark would not snap out of it, but Jonathan had scolded him soundly (and that had seemed to work more than anything) and when Martha had put him to bed, he had fallen into a deep sleep. Hopefully, he would not remember any of this, Martha prayed. Then Jonathan had gone up to the Red House with the other men, and what he had seen there...his hair had gone partly grey overnight. He did not speak of what they had seen, nor did Martha ask him. She didn't have to.

The sound of a car arriving at the Kent farmhouse made Martha leave Clark's bedroom (after another quick check to make sure he was still asleep) and head downstairs. She went out on the porch, where her husband and their longtime neighbor Ed Johnson already were waiting. They stood quietly together as the police cruiser parked in their driveway.

Deputy Paul Baker and another man stepped out, an elderly and careworn-looking man dressed in an old-fashioned tweed suit more suited to a university hall than in rural Kansas. Both Jonathan and Martha well knew Phineas Potter, or "Doc" Potter, as he was more commonly known hereabouts. He was one of Smallville's most successful and prominent sons, a retired professor who occasionally returned to Smallville to advise farmers on new methods of improving agriculture and livestock yields. He also possessed other scholarly specialties.

"Any sign of the Dodds boy?" Johnson asked without any preamble.

Deputy Baker, a severe man in his early forties, shook his head. "Nope. We searched all around…that place, and we've had volunteers from the fire department scour the woods around it. Nothing at all."

"How's your boy?" Doc Potter inquired. His voice was high and reedy, but quite loud and strong still, although he had to be in his eighties.

"Clark's fine, now," Martha replied. "He's sleeping. He's been sleeping all day, ever since...you know."

Doc Potter nodded, looking pleased. "That's good. Means he's recovering."

"He remember anything more?" the deputy queried.

Jonathan shook his head. "No. He's not said two words about it after you brought him home. He was real shook up plenty, though. But he calmed down soon enough, once we got him settled. He'll be fine, I think."

The deputy spat on the ground by his shoes. "I sure hope so. The Wilder boy's still in hospital. He ain't said nothin', just stares at you with blank eyes and gibbers and drools, it's a bad sight. Can't get a coherent word out of him. You ask me, I don't think he'll ever recover."

"What about his folks?" Martha asked gently.

Baker snorted. "His mother's up there with him. All she does is curse at the nurses, saying this is all their fault and she'll sue holy hell out of them and the police and this n' that. She'll calm down once she learns there's no one to sue. His pa's nowhere to be found. Prob'ly laid up drunk somewhere, as usual. The Dodds family, they're down at the station, giving statements now. They didn't even know their boy was missing until we drove up to their trailer. Don't think they much care either, to tell the truth."

Johnson spoke again, this time carefully choosing his words. "What about...about the Red House?"

A nervous silence enveloped the porch. Baker spat once more, his thin lips trembling slightly. Doc Potter adjusted his round spectacles thoughtfully.

"It's…dormant now. The boys somehow shifted the rock, which had the Elder Sign inscribed underneath. That keeps it…well, not quite _harmless_ exactly, but _contained_, I guess that would be the best word. This is probably the first time it's been disturbed, since, oh, probably 1928 when the Starry Wisdom people left town. My my, wasn't that a right mess if I recall! So it was pretty lethargic, more than anything. If it hadn't been...well…anyway, we were very lucky today! It's back _underneath_ again, and I have ensured that the hole is sealed again, securely. The _other_ thing, well...that's nothing to worry about. It doesn't like the light, so what you did Jonathan with that old grenade, well, that took care of it..."

Baker looked aside at him under the rim of his hat. "Doc, how is it you know all this weird voodoo shit?" It was a question he'd asked before, and knew he would get the same answer.

The old scholar looked slightly offended. "Years, sir, years of education and knowledge of this 'weird voodoo' as you call it, is what enabled me to know how to deal with it!"

Johnson was suddenly furious. "To hell with 'dealing with' it, Doc! I say we kill it! Why don't we just get us a ton of dynamite and blow that thing back to Hell where it belongs?"

Potter stared at him, aghast at the suggestion. "Because it simply wouldn't work. Because it can't be killed…at least not by what we have at our disposal. Maybe an atom bomb _might_ do it, but it's rather unlikely we could get our hands on one, not to mention Smallville would be the worse off for it…and it didn't come from Hell, but from another place, which would make Hell look like Disneyland, if you ask me. If you tried to blow it up, all you would be accomplishing is to remove the only structure that contains it. Something about the Red House keeps it there, rather than rampaging like a tidal wave through Smallville and the rest of the county, or the country even, swallowing up houses and farms and people."

Martha shuddered. "But...but what if...what if it does get out again somehow? What can we do? Surely there must be something?"

"Ah," Potter pushed his round glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and fixed her and Jonathan with a knowing look. "There might not be anything we can do for the present, but perhaps one day in the future...when your boy come of age?"

All of them, for a long moment, said nothing. Not one of them was unaware of what old Doc Potter implied. Anyone else would have been puzzled by the remark, but not these people. It was an unspoken thing between all of them, not to be discussed casually or with outsiders, but Doc Potter had breached it now.

"No," Jonathan finally spat out. "What the hell are you talking about? He's only a boy! "

"Well yes, of course, now, he's only a child," Potter affirmed. "But I am speaking of the time when he becomes a grown man. We've all seen the…the extraordinary things your boy can do, and know how he escaped the Red House that night - you found shards of broken glass on his clothes, did you not, Jonathan? We found glass, and cuts, on the other boys too. The quickest way out of that chapel is through the windows, and the lowest window of the Red House is at least 10 feet off the ground. I can suppose they didn't climb out of them."

Jonathan and Martha Kent looked at each other, said nothing.

Doc Potter went on in his professorial style. "Despite the situation – I'm sure the poor lad was terrified – he knew to grab the other boys and get away from the thing. Now, we all know he is not an ordinary child. We do not know who or what he is, only that he has abilities far beyond mortal men. When he is older, what else might he be capable of? He might even be able to-"

Johnson spoke indignantly. "What are you saying, Doc? That Kent's boy will turn out to be some kind of monster too? I don't believe that, not for a minute!"

"That's not what I'm saying at all," Potter explained patiently. "I'm not saying he will become a monster - on the contrary, he can be someone who fights the monsters."

"No," Jonathan Kent said thickly, after a moment. "I don't want that for my boy. He ought to have the right to be a man like the rest of us, have an ordinary life an' a family, a wife, kids, like everyone else, not runnin' around fighting godawful creatures like that thing in that damned house!"

"Of course you would want that. I understand, Jonathan, I really do. Believe me, if I had the chance to go back in time, to take a different path and forget everything I learned about the Great Old Ones and the Outer Gods, I would do it," Doc Potter's deeply lined face and white hair seemed to testify to that. "But, when I was faced with the choice, I couldn't turn away from this knowledge. I needed it because I knew I had to fight them, too. What you want for Clark might…not be realistic. I only say this so you know."

"You think I don't know that?" Jonathan said angrily. "I know my boy. I know he will have a hard enough life as it is with…with everything. If I can spare him any of that, I will. Now I'm obliged to you, Doc, for all you've done for us, but as far as I'm concerned Clark is not going to learn anymore about this," Jonathan's voice was firm. "As far as I'm concerned, this is all over and done with, and that's that!" Without another word, he turned and went back into his house, slamming the door.

Martha walked over to Dr. Potter, put a reassuring hand on the old man's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Doc. He's just upset," she said. "He was so afraid of losing Clark, we both were."

The old professor nodded sagaciously. "I'm glad the boy's safe, too, Martha. He really should be all right, once time has passed. I have no doubt that with the two of you raising him, he'll grow up to be a fine young man. He's very fortunate to have been found by you, of all people, Martha Clark Kent. If he'd turned up in the yard of an old egghead like me, I'd probably always keep him under the microscope!"

Martha couldn't help but laugh along with the wizened old professor. "Thank you for everything you've done, Doc. Please don't be a stranger."

"I try not to be, but work always keeps me busy, even at my age," he looked at the deputy. "Can you give me a ride to the train station?"

"Sure thing, Doc."

"I'd better get going too, Martha," Johnson added. "Betty'll be after me, she's always worried I'm up to no good. Usually she's right!"

Doc Potter and Ed Johnson waved farewell, and the deputy tipped his cap to her. Martha waved farewell, and watched as their cars drove away down the dirt road. She stood on her porch, watching them until they were out of sight. She knew Doc Potter was right…their boy was special, and someday there would be no avoiding the dark and unmentioned things that lurked out of sight in the unlit corners of the world, everywhere. They would seek him out, just for what he was. She knew Jonathan knew that too. But if there was any way they could spare Clark from such horrors, from such a fate as Doc Potter implied, she knew they would try.

Martha turned, and walked silently back into the house, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"_I felt that I had intruded, uninvited, into chaos."_ – Jorge Luis Borges

* * *

**[Longest chapter yet! Thank you for reading this far! As you might have guessed by now, this is a crossover with the Cthulhu Mythos of HP Lovecraft. I wrote this in a way to drop hints throughout the story of what our couple was facing (just a story experiment I had in mind) and if you aren't that familiar with the Mythos or didn't get the clues, he's a quick guide, chapter by chapter:**

**Title: The Red House**

**The Red House comes from the story "There Are More Things" by late Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges, which he dedicated to Lovecraft. The Red House is located in South America, and the protagonist of the story discovers something has taken up residence in his uncle's old house. Borges never describes what it is, only that its very furniture is horrific - Borges is great, read him!**

**Ch. Four - Old man who drops clues about the Red House. **

**An old guy who mumbles about weird goings on is sometimes typical of Mythos stories, most notably in the story "The Shadow over Innsmouth" Borrowed that idea for Old Man Johnson.**

**Ch. Six**

**Lana and Will's house furnished Middle Eastern style. Lovecraft used the Middle East as a setting in some of his stories, particularly where his 'mad Arab' author is from - more later on that.**

**Ch. Seven**

**Major clues in here. **

**Phineas Potter goes to an East Coast uni - maybe Miskatonic? Where he first learns all his weird knowledge?**

**M. Preetorius - In "There Are More Things" a mysterious character named Preetorious commissions the horrific furniture for the mysterious new inhabitant of the Red House. C.A. Smith is Clark Ashton Smith, a friend of Lovecraft who also wrote weird tales.**

**"Church of Starry Wisdom" a cult that worships Nyarlathotep, the "Haunter of the Dark" from Lovecraft story of same title.**

**Zealia Bishop was a real person and friend of Lovecraft's. She invented the Great Old One Yig in a cowritten story with Lovecraft, before quitting writing horror and turned to writing romance novels instead.**

**Ch. Nine**

**The stone that reminds Clark of an evil toad, maybe reference to Tsathoggua, Great Old One supposed to resemble a toad ;) First appearance of the Shoggoth! Shoggoths appear in the classic Lovecraft story "At the Mountains of Madness."**

**Ch. Ten**

**Old Man Johnson mumbles about seeing a "three-lobed" eye, a feature of the Haunter of the Dark.**

**Potter's letters to Will. Blake is the character in the "Haunter of the Dark." He also mentions the "ORIGINAL" creators of the shoggoth, the Elder Things, who lost control of their bioweapons (the shoggoths). The Shining Trapezohedron is supposed to summon the Haunter of the Dark.**

**Wacky Will screaming "Ia" something cultists do in Lovecraft stories, alot!**

**Ch. Eleven**

**Wacky lady reading book about tentacle monster - Great Cthulhu here? She also makes a reference to the Haunter of the Dark...or is the lady the Haunter of the Dark itself?**

**Ch. Twelve**

**Will's babbling also comes from Lovecraft "from the wells of space to the gulfs of night" and "when the stars are right" [for the Great Old Ones to reappear]**

**Ch. Fourteen/Ch. Twenty**

**Corben's going on about a book - could it be the book a certain bald guy steals from Will's safe? More bonus points if you guess the English name - the original Arabic is given here.**

**Ch. Nineteen**

**Batman sees the Mi-Go in the clock-tower, from "the Whisperer in Darkness." They are an extraterrestial race best not to run into.**

**Ch. Twenty**

**All those books Mrs. Oates stashes away are books well-known in the Mythos. They contain nothing but BAD JUJU.**

**Well if you've read this far you might be wondering what happened to John Corben. That comes in the Epilogue...next!**

**Please review, if you've liked this or thought it was too weird, or whatever. I do have an idea for a sequel, mostly set in Themyscira, where Clark will confront his most daunting opponent yet, his MIL! Plus a couple of one-offs involving Lex Luthor and Jimmy Olsen. Maybe after the holidays.**

**As always, please review!]**


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue

_I am floating in a sea of darkness…a stygian darkness…_

_What does that even mean, a "stygian" darkness? Where the hell did that come from?_

_Where am I?_

_I can't feel my arms or my legs…I can't feel much of anything, in fact._

_Who am I?_

_Wait…_

_Ny name is Staff Sergeant John Corben, United States Marine Corps, Special Operations, 35 years old, born in America..._

_No, that's no quite right…I'm _former_ Staff Sergeant John Corben, United States Marine Corps (there are only former Marines, no 'ex' Marines, remember). I'm a civilian now, or am I? I need to wake up...or...m__aybe I'm still in Afghanistan? Lying unconscious in the dirt, or in a hospital bed? Maybe we hit an IED after all…shit! I thought all that was over…but I still don't know where I am. Think...I have to think, think back…what was the last thing that happened to me? I have to remember..._

It's daytime, hot, blazing light filling the world. All of us wear protective glasses. An explosion. My Marines are all around me, our rifles raised. We kick in the door and rush in, shouting. We are clearing a building. My adrenalin is up, and we're going through room for room, searching for Taliban. We're careful, we know there might be women and kids around, and we see them huddled together, crying. The bastards use them as human shields. That's not what I'm worried about, right now. I'm running through the building, and in the back I find it.

There is a room, stacked from floor to ceiling with books. Qur'ans. A decrepit old man in dirty robes is crouched in front of a book on the dirt floor, desperately trying to flic his Bic, he's trying to set fire to it. He hears me but he doesn't look up. Instead he frantically keeps trying to get his lighter going, babbling something I don't understand. I roar at him and charge forward, kicking the sonuvabitch in the head with my boot. He topples over, still jabbering in his weird dialect. He scrambles madly for his lighter. I stomp on his hand, relishing hearing the bones in his hand crunch, along with the cheap plastic lighter. He stops squirming, clutching his broken hand, crying. He looks up at me desperately, pointing towards the book on the ground, imploring me in his annoying tongue. I can't understand him, he still wants to burn it even after being caught in the act. I boil with anger.

Two of my corporals appear, they grab the old guy and drag him away for the interrogators. I turn around to see the private detailed to escort our interpreter, "Kevin," around. The interpreter wears a clout over his face in case he is recognized by any of the locals. The boot private is staring at me, at the room full of books.

"What was that about?" he asks, confused.

"You don't know?" I realize I have to educate the boot quickly. "He was trying to set these Qur'ans on fire. Then they'll put the blame on us, claiming we're insulting their religion, and there'll be a shitstorm that we'll be the ones paying for! You better keep your eyes open for shit like this. That asshole won't be doing anything like that anytime soon."

I pick up the book that the old bastard was trying to set on fire, first. It's old and beat-up, bound in some kind of leather. There's Arabic writing on the darkened leather cover, barely legible. I hand it to the interpreter, who takes it reluctantly. He clearly doesn't want to be here, with us.

"A Qur'an, right?"

"Kevin" only looks at it for a moment, then hands it back to me, as if he doesn't want to touch it anymore. He shakes his head.

"Not Qur'an," he mumbles. He's supposed to be our "translator," but his English is hardly any damn good. "Not a good book."

Whatever. The next couple hours are spent gathering intel. "Kevin" seems in a hurry to get out of here, he probably doesn't want anyone to know he's helping Americans. Again, I examine the leather-bound book (I'm not sure what kind of leather it is, it sure doesn't feel like cowhide, and I know the Muslims wouldn't use pigskin), in case it might be a terrorist guidebook of some kind. It's all written in Arabic I guess, but the words, and the way they're written, sure doesn't look like the writing they taught us in our basic Arabic class. Also, there are drawings in the book (incredibly strange pictures at that) and other scribbles that almost look like Nordic runes. So I know Kevin is telling the truth, it couldn't possibly be a Qur'an, or any other holy book. They don't put pictures in those. The book repulses me. At first.

We get the call to head back to our FOB. Without thinking, I stuff the book in my rucksack. I'll leave the Qur'ans to the intel guys.

_Why this memory? Why am I remembering this? The book...__I remember...the book...something about the book...there's a buzzing in my head.._.

I was in Iraq in '04, a tough year. I'd already been in the Corps three years. Iraq was my first combat deployment after Denise and I got married, and she had a hard time dealing with my being gone for nearly a year. We almost divorced then. We probably should have, but she wanted to be married to a "hero." Whatever that is. So we went to a marriage counselor and saved our marriage, for awhile. Then I get called up for Operation Enduring Freedom. Denise was alternately arguing for me to get out, then berated me for not being a "real Marine" when I tried to. So I went, just to not hear her yammering anymore.

After that mission, I'm detailed to babysit three journalists from the_ Daily Planet_ newspaper for a couple of weeks. Personally, I can't stand these embedded reporters, they're all a bunch of media-whores, but these ones at least aren't being a colossal pain in the ass, which is some consolation. They ride around on convoy with us in the MRAP, traveling from FOB to FOB, even into the Afghani villages, but only the ones where we don't have trouble. One of them, a big guy named Kent, is different from the other reporters I've met. He actually takes the time to get to know the troops he's writing about. He isn't asking a bunch of dumbass questions (and yes, Virginia, there are stupid questions, like "how does it feel to kill a jihadi?"). He says he wants to write his story about people, and that he's not pushing any political agenda. After my initial hostility, I end up talking to him about me and my wife and how the war affects us. He's genuinely interested. For some reason, I feel comfortable talking to him. I can tell Kent really doesn't like the war, or any war, but what the hell, he's a civilian. At least he's adjusting to being in a war zone better than that lady reporter with him, a Miss Lane. I learn from the female Marines escorting her that she is really bossy and complains alot! I confirm this, seeing how whenever she's with Kent she bosses him around, too. He just takes it, poor guy. The photographer with them, whose name I can't remember, tends to keep close to Kent, especially the one time we did come under fire. Our convey came under ambush after our lead MRAP hit an IED - a big one - and then we took RPG and small rounds fire, all at once. During the firefight the lady and the wimpy little photographer look scared shitless, hunkering down in the back of the vehicle. I glance over at Kent, expecting him to be shitting his pants too - the Kevlar body armor and helmet looks ridiculous on him - but to my surprise, although he's also in the back, I can see his eyes, behind his nerdy glasses. His eyes are surprisingly calm, and...there's something there, something that tells me that if things took a turn for the worse, he wouldn't be cowering behind the Marines...but I must only be imagining it. Kent even refused all our attempts to issue him a firearm, even a sidearm pistol.

The firefight is over in only minutes. We get our embedded reporters back to the FOB safely. We did lose that boot private and our interpreter - they were in the lead vehicle when it took the explosion, and there wasn't much left of it. Lane and that photographer kid seem shaken up, but Kent calmly takes charge of them as they return to Kabul. He thanks me for my help, and shakes my hand. He has a strong grip, and I can tell that he's stronger than he lets on. He invites me to visit Metropolis, when I return. Months later, I see the article he wrote, and it is one of the better ones I have read - one that was written by a civilian, that is. He mentions me and Denise, and I smile. However, it is buried in the back pages - apparently celebrities and the Justice League take center stage over the war.

My Marines have mixed feelings about this Justice League. Some believe that they will make a move to take over the United States and then the world and we'll be called on to fight them sooner or later - some of them relish that possibility. Others support the Justice League, think they're the best thing since sliced bread for ending war and bringing about world peace, even though those costumed weirdos stated they don't get involved in "foreign policy." A few, crazy others think they are a part of a conspiracy to bring about the new world order, or the apocalypse, or whatever. I just laugh at it all, or ignore it...because now I have the _book_.

I remember I had kept it in my rucksack, and never turned it in - I guess I forgot to. I take it out again. Something about the book fascinates me, I can't explain why. Since I can't read the squiggly language, I content myself with looking at the pictures. I've always been a visual learner. The pictures are...I don't know how to explain them...they're strange. Arresting. I can't even explain what they're pictures _of_, only that the author must have had access to the premium poppy grown here, to draw such things.

_The buzzing in my head...it's getting stronger...am I regaining consciousness? But how can I be unconscious if I'm thinking? Why can't I FEEL ANYTHING..._

Oh yeah, the book. Soon I'm spending all my free time looking at the pictures, thinking about them, wondering what they mean. Some of them are ugly and terrible, yet fascinating still in their hideousness. I trace the ancient inks with my fingertips. I give up playing video games, lifting weights, even nearly missing formations and meetings, but I can't think of anything else other trying to make some sense of these pictures. Mythical gods, or monsters? Is this book telling a story? Some of these look like diagrams, but of weapons, cities? Realities? I almost feel I can drift into another world...they invade my dreams. I can't remember them when I wake up, only that I feel strangely drained yet exhilarated when I awake. My gunny is worried about me, thinks I might have PTSD. How can you get PTSD from a book, though? I shrug him off.

I stop answering the emails from Denise. At first she wrote about how much she missed me, loved me. It soon became complaints about her job, which she quit, cutting our income in half (real smart move). Then she began bitching about the other military spouses in our housing area, then that the command wasn't doing enough for the families back home, that my paycheck (going into our joint account) wasn't enough to pay the bills. All stuff I had no control over. I don't need that shit, not here. I ignore her whining demands, her pleas that I come home right away, right _now_. What does she think, that I can just book a flight home out of here? Dumb bitch.

I find that this ancient book with its bizarre, _wondrous _pictures a relief from her nagging emails. When our deployment finally ends, I find a way to smuggle the book back in my gear - it's illegal to take "war booty" but I know I can't part with it. Then I'm back in the States, on the parade deck, surrounded by other Marines and their happy families waving "Welcome Home!" signs. There are tearful reunions, guys seeing their wives and girlfriends, and even kids for the first time, but I'm alone. Denise didn't even bothered to show up. Figures. I get a buddy to drive me and my gear back to my house. The lights are dark. When I enter the home I haven't seen in 10 months, it looks like a pigsty, totally trashed. Empty beer bottles, ashtrays overflowing, nasty shit I don't even want to know what it is, strewn everywhere. Denise had been partying it up in my absence it seems. I turn on my heel and go stay in a motel.

_This buzzing...it doesn't stop! It almost feels like there is something else in my head. Where am I? But if I'm back in the States, I was home, how could I have been injured there? Then it wasn't an IED after all...it didn't blow off my limbs like that guy in "Johnny Got His Gun." But I still can't feel anything. Something, some force is making me remember...to keep remembering..._

I get a nasty and ugly divorce from Denise. She did her best to ruin my career. I am pulled off the next deployment cycle, to deal with all my legal issues from the divorce. She accused me of dealing drugs, which was false (turned out she was the one actually dealing), but it became a case of he-said, she-said. My chain of command, which should have supported me, turned on me. So much for standing by your man. I was reassigned to a desk job, checking out gym gear. I had to pay part of my paychecks to Denise, and I knew she used them to pay for her new boyfriend's drug and booze habit, and her own too. I know now she did same thing she did when she cheated on me during my first deployment. I confront her. I admit I lost my temper, but I only shoved her after she hit me first! I didn't even leave a bruise but she had me arrested and charged with assault. Domestic violence. That was the final straw, the Corps apparently only wants to keep guys with squeaky-clean records. I was lucky to get out with an Honorable Discharge, only because my Colonel actually liked me and refused to give me the Bad Conduct Discharge my lieutenant, a no-ball wonder from Annapolis, wanted. But that was it for me, after only 10 years in my Marine Corps, not able to make it to retirement, or even to gunnery sergeant like my father had (even though he was an asshole and never there, at least he was a Marine), I was out on my ass, back to a world which hardly knew or cared that we were still at war. Some of my buddies had gotten out too, and had turned to the bottle, or meth, or the gun to deal with it. Myself, I wasn't going to go down that road. I had plans. Good thing we never had kids.

And I still had _the book_. I had kept it hidden, all this time. Not even Denise knew I had it. She wasn't going to get that, even if she got everything else!

But even though I had plenty of time to peruse the book, I had to find a job. Denise had always been after me to get out of the military (even though she bragged about being married to a "hero") and start what she called a "real" job that made "real" money. She had suggested that I go into the contracting business and make twice the salary I was making as an NCO. Although a long time ago such people were called "mercenaries" or "war profiteers", I didn't care. I thought I could do the same thing. All the good names were already taken, but Denise came up with a name.

METALLO.

A stupid name, I scoffed to her. She ignored me, said she thought it sounded cool and that I was a fucking idiot. SinceI couldn't think of anything else, so I used it. I made up some business cards, called myself a CEO, but really I didn't know much about business or marketing. I figured it'd come to me, eventually. But money was running out, and after Denise divorced me, I was really looking at the possibility of living out of my truck. Then I had to sell the truck, and only got around on my Harley, bought in better times. Then I was facing the possibility of living under a bridge. I didn't want to end up like veterans of the last war, so I sold all my possessions - the economy was in the toilet, but I wasn't going to go from highly trained sniper to burger-flipper. Finally, I even thought about selling the book. I hated to, but I was that desperate. An old book had to be worth something to somebody. I took it around to several antique shops and antiquarian book stores. A few of them had no idea what it was, weren't interested and said it probably wasn't worth much. I kept trying, feeling my wallet getting thinner. I got some weird reactions: some old bastard at a used book store took one look at it and told me to get the hell out of his shop. Another guy looked at the cover, lifted it and saw the illustrations; then he quietly said,

"Young man, I'd like to offer you $500 for this book. That is all I have in the till."

I pursed my lips. Was that all? "What will you do with it? Resell it at markup?" I was upset.

"No. I'm going to burn it."

That's all I needed to hear. I grabbed the book and got the hell out of there. I spent the night staring at the pages, frustrated, angry. The mysterious drawings and diagrams remained as inscrutable as usual. I wasn't getting anything out of this, after all. Maybe it ought to be burned! Just as Denise had betrayed me, this book was betraying me too. Finally I found another bookseller, a seedy looking creep who smelled of stale nicotine and Crisco, sitting amidst a hoarder's pile of moldy old books and yellowed magazines, who said he could put me in touch with a private buyer that he had sold to before. After that, a Will Richardson called me. _Professor_ Richardson, of Arabic studies at some no-name college. He asked if he could examine the book before purchase (I named a high figure). I said where. He mentioned a town: Smallville. Where the hell was that? Kansas. Not far from where I was. He said he would reimburse my gas mileage, even if he didn't buy the book. I agreed. Rode my Harley and met him there in Smallville, which turned out to be a little farm town, and looked like it had seen better days.

_The buzzing in my head keeps intensifying...grows stronger...what is happening here?_

Will Richardson looks like a typical college professor to me, well-dressed and delicate, no doubt he never fired a gun, or had to do anything harder than lifting his grading pencil. But he greets me cordially at the coffee shop we've agreed to meet at, and seems very eager to see the book that I've described to him over the phone. His eyes follow my every movement as I reach into my bike's saddlebag and pull out the book, wrapped in a protective, rainproof covering. I watch him carefully as he unwraps it, his eyes shining. He touches the cover tentatively.

"Incredible!" He exclaims, delight and disbelief in his voice. "A _Kitab al Azif! _The original Arabic!"

I am stunned. "You can read that?"

"Of course." He carefully turned the pages. "Very old Arabic. Not quite the kind used today. Only a few people know it. I'm one of them."

I can hear the pride in his voice, and I know I can sell him on this. "So, you'll buy it?"

"Don't you know what this is?"

From his tone I can tell he think I just fell off the turnip truck, so to speak, and that he hopes that if I don't know, I will settle for alot less than he can pay.

"What I know," I reply cooly, "Is that it's very rare and valuable - to you. If you want to find another copy, you are welcome to go to Afghanistan to look for it."

"Afghanistan!" He ignores my retort, and stares at the book even more intensely, if that's possible. His expression is odd. "That means...this could be a first generation copy! Within Alhazred's own lifetime, if not during! My God! This is...historic!" He seemed on the verge of blurting out something else, but then he calmed down. He made an offer that was beyond even what I was expecting; still, I decided to try for a higher price and to my surprise he agreed to it on the spot. I wondered if college professors could actually make that kind of money to spend on books. Maybe he had something on the side. It wasn't my business. I needed the money. He agreed to pay in cash also.

Before I left him with his now most prized possession, I asked him, "That book...what does it mean? I mean...what is it about?"

Richardson only looked at me, and this time he I could see barely-masked contempt in his face. No doubt he thought I was nothing more than a dumb jarhead who could barely count to twenty without taking off my socks, but he gave me a reply:

"It's an instruction manual. That's all. Thank you for selling to me. Good day."

At the time I didn't care. I had a huge chunk of money again. I could get started on my contracting business. But then the weeks and months passed and nothing happened. I kept thinking about the book...about what was in the book. I had made photocopies of the illustrations before I sold it, but somehow the copier didn't catch all the nuances and details of the originals. I hang around Smallville, run into Kent and his wife. So he lost his job, too. Things were tough everywhere. I should be investing the money I'd gotten for the book, but I'm starting to have second thoughts. I realize it had been a mistake to sell it. Then, that night, the dreams started. Dreams of space, of vast stretches of endless desert, of great but abandoned cities littered with innumerable lifeless bodies, with black suns hanging in a starless sky. Nightmares, but instead of waking up in sweaty terror, I relished these dreams. I wanted to see more, the hallowed temples to unnamed gods that littered the empty void of what had become the Earth...I knew with certainty now that I had made a mistake selling the book.

I was behind on the rent on the shitty apartment I was living in, not because I couldn't pay, but because I didn't bother to write the checks. Angry notes were left on my door by my non-English-speaking landlord. I didn't read them. I missed VA appointments, my answering machine was full, I'd given up my cell phone. I didn't have anyone to call, I'd lost touch with all my friends, and I never had any family that I'd bothered to keep in touch, after Mom died. Dad had disappeared ten years ago, probably dead too. Denise was the only one who'd even tried to keep in touch, if only because she wanted and expected more money. She was a full-blown addict now, needed to feed her habit. I wasn't interested in any of it any longer. I could only think of that book, and that it had the key to the dreams. I wanted to get it back from the professor, but I knew he would not sell it back - I knew he would be just as drawn to it as I was. It had that kind of power. It _was_ a power. The only power. I didn't know how I knew that, but I did. It could answer all my questions...about everything.

So I returned to Smallville. I found out where he lived. I truly didn't have any intent to hurt him, only to get my book back, but I was going to get it back! You must believe me...I had no other intention...but then...then...

_The buzzing rises a hundredfold, and then the pain! It hurt! But it was all in my head! I tried to cry out, but no sound came out._

_Who are you?_

_?_

_Who. Are. You?_

_Is that me? Or...who is that?_

_We are..._

_I am..._

_What has happened to me?_

My last memories: I remember going to the Red House. I remember seeing that _thing_ that came out of that place. I shoot at it, even though I knew it would be useless...I see Denise...no that wasn't her...Kent's wife, maybe, or was it Wonder Woman? I am pulled into the _shoggoth_ (_shoggoth_?) a searing pain in my hand as I can no longer hold onto that glowing rope...then...blackness...and an incredible pressure as I feel I am suffocating, my ears, mouth, nostrils, something pouring in like I am drowning in a sea of darkness...then...nothing.

Am I dead?

_No._

_Then...what?_

_Who said that?_

I start to see again. Something is coalescing in front of me, lights, shapes. I realize my vision is coming back. Perhaps I am in the hospital after all! Then the form becomes definite. I see someone, lying on a slab of black stone granite. Someone's lying hurt, my military instincts kick in, and I try to go to him, try to call out _corpsman up!_ but I still can't talk. Then my vision clears, suddenly, and I recognize the body on the slab.

It's...me. My body. Not quite intact. The head...the top of the head has been removed. The brain is gone. I've seen injuries like this before, during my tour, but now...that's...me.

Me. ME!

_What the hell? I am dead! This is hell!_

_No._

_What?! Who is that here? Who are you?_

As if in response, I can see beyond the body (my body!) on the slab - there is a reflective surface beyond him, and then I see where I am. I'm...in a jar. No, a canister. My brain is in it...I've become a brain in a jar.

_I would scream if I had a mouth, but I don't. _

_My mind reels, but then the voice comes again. It is not an unpleasant voice. I don't actually hear it as feel it. The sensation is...soothing, like a shot of morphine, or a dose of oxycotin._

_Do not be afraid. We have you._

_I feel as if I've gone mad, but...I listen to the voice. I ask - demand - again. Who. Are. You?_

_Mi..._

_What?_

_Migo?_

Mi-go?

_Mi-go._

_That name doesn't mean anything to me, but then I feel the buzzing in my mind again. I realize it's their voice. They are the ones reviewing my memories, like someone going through a book...the book...they know I've seen the Al Azif. If I've seen the Al Azif, then I know them. I've known them all along.  
_

_Where are you?_

_My vision clears again, the buzzing stops. The body (my body) disappears, and I feel, no sense, somehow, the canister turning. And then I see them. Even after all this time, I remember that sensation upon seeing such beings. My brain in its stabilizing fluids must have churned and writhed at the sight, roiling at the sight of the living Fungi from Yuggoth. For that was what they were, and where I was._

_Yuggoth. Their world._

_They had retreated from the tiny outpost once they were re-discovered. Many years ago they had brought the Shining Trapezohedron at the behest of the humans there, who were more perceptive than their fellows, and wanted to partake of the knowledge of the Fungi. They had summoned a shoggoth from beneath cold Kadath, but after that, they had squandered their precious knowledge in pitiful squabbling and infighting. The same with any religion. They were no longer willing to heed the call of the Mi-go, so they had left, with those they had harvested to come to dark Yuggoth with them. They had left the shoggoth there, and the Shining Trapezohedron, hidden in the house, until another human had summoned them, through the manual. But he had been prematurely thwarted..._

_The buzzing begins again. I realize, I understand them...they are...what? Curious? Piqued? At the beings that had stopped the shoggoth. They had never encountered such a thing before. Yes, they are indeed curious. They had taken the Shining Trapezohedron back - along with the remnants of the shoggoth - to Yuggoth, before they could be seen by anyone else. And they took me._

_Why? My mind screams without sound. Why me?_

_You know, Corben. We want you. You read the book, didn't you._

Yes. Yes...I do know. I read the book, didn't I? The book the was called _Al Azif,_ but was better known as the _Necronomicon_. So had Richardson. But he was dead. So I would have to do. That suited them. I was a martial human. That was even better. They have plans for me. They don't want to be thwarted again. They whisper it to me, in my head. I listen - I have no choice, do I? But as I listen, I like. I said I wasn't going to go from sniper to burger-flipper, remember? Now...I am to be re-deployed again.

They place my brain, in its shielded container, into a metal body of their manufacture. It is not made of any metal known on Earth. Whatever it is, it has the ability to conform to any shape, or size, it could even be alive, or about as alive as the Mi-Go are. The exterior looks like them, crustacean, fungoid, and able to extrude extensions. I try it to modify it myself, with my mind, although I end up wrecking one of their cities in the process. They don't mind. The Mi-Go peel themselves off from the spore-filled walls and grounds of their lightless world (somehow I have night vision now too), and tinker continuously with my new body. I know that they are surgeons too. I guess they have to be, being brain harvesters. They have a bit of a hoarding problem, that way, well so did my Mom. I learn they have been to Earth many times, for that purpose, and to satisfy whatever bizarre curiosity they have with our maddening, grotesque species, which is perhaps how they see us. They are drawn to us, the same way I was drawn to Denise perhaps, because she was a train-wreck and capable of nothing else but drama. I have to admit now I enjoyed driving her to distraction, and seeing her flail and twist in anger and pain...perhaps I and the Mi-Go are not dissimilar. They are willing to use me to their purposes - they do not like the light of Earth, so they will make it more like this world of theirs, like black Yuggoth. All humanity will go through the same - it is what you truly want, is it not? And I want more of their knowledge. No longer encumbered by my weak, aging human body, I have the potentiality for much more. They are willing, very willing, to share their great knowledge. They, at least, recognize my potential! They are very generous. It is all they intend - _Iä Cthulhu!_ _Iä Shub-Niggurath!_

I am Metallo, First of the New Ones. I will return to Earth, and then there will see an awesome, terrifying, magnificent drama! Then will the Earth become like Yuggoth, dark and black and without light, and the New Ones will become like the Old Ones, free and wild and beyond good and evil. Wait for us.

_WAIT_

* * *

**That concludes "The Red House"! The Mi-go are from Lovecraft's story "The Whisperer in Darkness" (a great b&w adaptation is available on Netflix, and you can see the trailers on YouTube), and if you want to see what they look like (if you dare) there are some great illustrations on deviantArt site. **

**And please "wait" for the sequel! To come sometime soon (maybe, I hope, if I don't get writers block) after the New Year. Before the actual sequel I may write two connected stand-alone stories setting up said sequel featuring my personal fave Superman baddie, Lex Luthor (guess who has the Al Azif now?), and poor Jimmy Olsen - for a reason. And then the sequel, featuring (for now) Superman (Christopher Reeve), Wonder Woman (Lynda Carter), Batman (Adam West cameo) Hippolyta (Special Guest Star Joan Crawford as MIL from Hades), a familiar name from the WW universe will play a major role, even less familiar names from the Mythos lurking about, maybe Lois and Jimmy snooping around our couple, a whole cast of brand new characters, and lots and lots of Amazons with man-issues carrying sharp pointy objects. But it will be a horror story again, and maybe more intense, if I can manage to write it like that.**

**As always, reviews and suggestions (nice ones) are welcome!**

**(Just joking about the casting ;)**

**And thank you all for reading this!**

**Happy Holidays!**


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